Advent Calendar 2015
by lamentomori
Summary: A little collection of fics inspired by Christmas Carols. Various pairings and warnings - Full track listing in Chapter 26, complete with all warnings.
1. Making Christmas

_Warnings: Mild FemSlash (Paige/AJ),_ _AU._

* * *

The cold is all permeating. It's something you get used to, but never fully accept. The constant, steady freezing cold. It'd be more endurable if it wasn't so inescapable. The cold is the worst thing about being dead. AJ had come to that conclusion some time ago. She'll _never_ get used to how cold it is in the Land of the Dead. Paige doesn't seem the least bit affected, but she's a Reaper, born and bred in the Land of the Dead. At least AJ thinks born, she's never been sure if Paige was _born_ exactly. It might be that Reapers just are. It's not a conversation they've ever had, and not one she wants to consider overly. She's only been a member of the deceased for a few months, and she's not entirely certain of how everything works yet, or if she's even _really_ supposed to be here.

She'd found herself in the Land of the Dead due to an paperwork error. She'd been involved in a car accident with an old lady who had the same name, April Jeanette Mendez, same birthday too, all except the year. It was supposed to be that old lady who'd shuffled off the mortal coil, but Paige, newly on the job had reaped AJ's soul. Mistakes happen, but thankfully the souls collection department had caught the error before AJ's soul could be properly processed. Down in his lab, the Resurrectionist is trying to figure out how to return AJ's soul to her apparently comatosed body. It's not a problem that's been faced before, and the Resurrectionist is apparently very pleased to have more interesting work than normal. He's an interesting guy, and AJ quite enjoys spending time in his lab, but he's not the most interesting person in the Land of the Dead, that title belongs to AJ's room-mate, and mild crush, Paige.

"What the fuck?" Paige sounds confused, and AJ turns to her with a grin.

"It's Christmas! I'm decorating." The tree in the middle of Paige's small living room looks like something from A Nightmare Before Christmas, but the vague collection of tree shaped branches was the best AJ could find. Christmas was always her favourite holiday before her _accidental_ death, and she wanted to recreate it the best she could.

"We don't have _Christmas_." Paige makes air quotes as she says the word Christmas, and looks mildly exasperated at the tree.

"I know... No holidays here, but I _love_ Christmas, so..." AJ turns to her, all wide eyes, and a pleading smile.

"Fine." Paige huffs, shaking her head. "Have your Christmas, I've work to do."

"Have fun! Reap the right souls!" AJ calls out, and Paige makes an non-committal noise as she leaves. The tree is decorated with what AJ supposes could pass for Christmas decorations, but there's not much she could do with the available materials. There wasn't much in the way of arts and crafts supplies, so AJ had had to get creative. The paper snowflakes at least make it look somewhat festive.

"Miss AJ!" The voice that calls out to her has her jumping slightly. She's not yet used to the Resurrectionist's Assistant, and his being incorporeal. AJ thinks that being a ghost in the Land of the Dead has to be quite good fun. When in the Land of the Living most residents of the Land of the Dead are incapable of affecting anything other than those close to death, but the Assistant isn't dead, or even of the Land of the Dead. AJ isn't sure what the deal with the Resurrectionist and his Assistant is, but they've been kind to her, so she's never pried. They're definitely not in favour with the Higher Power, but it might is probably because of their work. "C'mon down to the lab, we've a surprise for you!" The Assistant vanishes as suddenly as he'd appeared, and AJ is left staring blankly at the spot he'd previously occupied.

"C'mon down to the lab, he says. We've a surprise, he says." She mutters to herself as she sets about trying to wrap up against the cold in one of Paige's spare robes. "It's fine for him, ghost-bastard." AJ snarls to herself as she starts the journey to the Resurrectionist's lab.

The main city in the Land of the Dead is a sprawling mass of mismatched architecture. Paige's home is a small, squat, little cottage, made of red bricks, with a white picket fence, but beside her little home is one of a much different style. The neighbour lives in a lavish mansion, with gleaming white walls, and long windows. The other buildings are equally uncoordinated. The Town-hall is a huge Gothic building, but the Higher Power's palace looks more like a corporate skyscraper. The whole city looks like it was designed by several committees that refused to talk to each other, but somehow the architectural chaos works. The Resurrectionist's lab is located at the bottom of a steep staircase. Every time AJ descends it, she feels like she's walking into the bowels of the Earth. It feels strangely warm down there, so she doesn't mind spending time in the lab.

"Hello!" The Resurrectionist's back is turned when AJ pushes open the thick door. She hovers near it, half in trepidation, half in awe. The lab is an explosion of colour. "He decorated." The Resurrectionist doesn't turn around, and AJ finds herself looking around for the Assistant.

"Tadah! I bring you eggnog." A steaming mug of what smells like eggnog appears in front of her, held in the slightly transparent Assistant's hands. "Your tree looked _festive_." The Assistant offers as he hands AJ the mug.

"I did the best I could." She mutters, and follows him over to the console the Resurrectionist is working on. "Have you found anything?" She stares at the scrolling numbers, and then at the sloppy scrawls on a scrap of paper beside the Resurrectionist's elbow.

"Nothing worth reporting." He mutters, pushing back from the console. "I'm running a simulation at the moment. We're hoping it'll give us something."

"Well, here's hoping." The Assistant perches on the console, his feet swinging back and forth slightly as he sips at his own mug. "You want some now?" He asks the Resurrectionist.

"Yeah, yeah, just a little." The Assistant vanishes in response to the Resurrectionist's response, and he shakes his head. "He wasn't like this before." He smiles at AJ.

"Before?" AJ wanders over to the couch shoved up against a wall, and takes a seat.

"Before." The Resurrectionist repeats, and sighs. "He always hated Christmas, but I suppose people change on the other side."

"Do you..." AJ takes a drink, and considers on how to ask her question. She's not entirely certain what the deal with the Resurrectionist and his Assistant is. She knows that the Resurrectionist is dead, but most souls don't hang about in the Land of the Dead. Normal procedure is for a soul to be processed, and sent to wherever it is souls go. The why of the Resurrectionist's hanging about isn't something AJ knows, nor does she know how the Assistant manages to visit the Land of the Dead from that of the Living so easily.

"Do I?" The Resurrectionist prompts her.

"Do you miss living?" She offers a slight smile to try to mitigate what is probably a stupid question.

"Do you?" He asks, and AJ stares at him blankly for a few seconds. She's not sure if she does miss being alive or not. She misses being warm, but actually being alive is a difficult question. If she was alive she'd have never met Paige, and she doesn't think she'd enjoy a life without the Reaper in it.

"One mug, and a present for you, AJ." The Assistant reappears, saving AJ from answering the Resurrectionist's question.

"A present?" She takes the large duffel bag that's being held out to her. "What is it?"

"Surprise!" The Assistant grins, and returns to his perch, and mug of eggnog. "So... Have you gotten Little Miss Can't Read into the Christmas spirit yet?" The Resurrectionist glances over at his Assistant, and takes a swipe at his head.

"Be nice, Punk." The Resurrectionist mutters, scowling as his hand passes through his Assistant's head.

"Well, she wouldn't be in this mess if Paige just read the right numbers, and we'd be focussed on more important matters." The Assistant, Punk, snaps. AJ smiles awkwardly at the Resurrectionist.

"I'm sorry." She offers, the Resurrectionist shrugs, and sips at his eggnog.

"It is how it is, nothing much is gonna change even if she wasn't here." He mutters, and the Assistant looks deeply offended.

"Don't say that! We can-"

" _So_ , AJ?" The Resurrectionist looks pointedly at the Assistant, and offers AJ a familiarly broad grin. "Do you think you'll be able to get a present out of Paige?"

"Christmas spirit, presents and all, seems to be lost on everyone here... Well, apart from you two." AJ waves her hand around the lab, gesturing to the festive explosion that's happened in there.

"Yes... Well..." The Resurrectionist smiles awkwardly, and the Assistant beams at her.

"It's nice to remember the traditions of the Living." He chuckles, and the Resurrectionist snorts dismissively.

"Didn't celebrate Christmas when I was alive, I don't see why I have to now I'm d"

"AJ! I've got you an actual present, and I think you should open it now." The Assistant doesn't let the Resurrectionist finish, and AJ is once more struck by how odd the pair are, even considering the fact they're in the Land of the Dead, they're _odd_. He hands AJ a brightly wrapped parcel.

"Uh... I didn't get you anything." She mutters, and the Assistant shakes his head.

"It's nothing... It's not like you could get me anything anyways." His smile looks slightly strained, and the Resurrectionist turns back to the computer, typing at the keyboard idly. The Assistant glances over at him, and strange look on his face. "Go on, open it." AJ unwraps the present, and lets out a surprised laugh.

"It's _hideous_! I love it!" The package contains a bright red and green sweater, covered in a vibrantly festive print. It's soft, and AJ doesn't doubt warm.

"I had a feeling you'd like it." The Assistant smiles, the strange look still in his eyes. "We were planning on popping up later. Will you need help carrying the bag?" He waves his hand at the duffel bag AJ had set down on the floor by her.

"No... No, I'll be fine." She's getting the feeling she's being dismissed. There's a distinctly _icy_ air in the lab, despite the warmth. The sort of aura that hangs around a long term couple before they have an old, familiar argument. "I'll see you guys later?" She makes it a question to give the Assistant, or the Resurrectionist a way out of the proposed visit.

"Yeah... Couple of hours... Hopefully this'll come to something." The Resurrectionist doesn't turn around, and AJ leaves the pair to their work.

She lugs the bag up the stairs, cursing the fact she'd not accepted the offered help. The bag is surprisingly heavy, and she'd rather not have to be carrying it on her own.

"You want some help?" Paige's voice interrupts the rant AJ was having in her own mind. "You look like you could use some help." She laughs, and easily takes the bag from AJ's pained hands. "What's in this? Rocks?" She hefts the bag, and falls into step with AJ.

"I've no idea... The Assistant gave it to me. That, and my beautiful sweater!" AJ grins at her.

"It's hideous." Paige mutters. "You know hanging out with them looks bad..." She follows AJ into the cottage, and sets the bag down carefully.

"Hopefully, I won't be here long enough for that to matter." AJ resists the urge to open the bag until Paige had pulled her robe off, and hung it on the hook.

"It's been months... Though they've been there for as long as I can remember so maybe time has less, or more meaning to them? I dunno... They're weird." She mutters, and comes over to the bag, watching AJ unzip it. "What the fuck?" Inside the bag is a mass of tinsel, and other sparkly decorations. AJ can't keep the grin from her face.

"Weird, but good friends." She cackles, and starts pulling the decorations out. " _Now_ we can have a proper Christmas."

It takes them what feels like hours to decorate the house. Every available surface has received a dose of festive cheer, and when she's finished AJ's fairly proud of herself. Paige looks torn between disgust, and amusement. She'd simply watched AJ as she'd bustled through the house, but now AJ is regarding her with keen interest, and Paige looks uncomfortable with AJ's gaze.

"Why are you staring at me?" She shifts from one foot to the other, and AJ brandishes the last decoration.

"I can't reach, and this needs to go above a door." AJ holds up a single sprig of mistletoe, and a hook to hang it from.

"You want me to stick it where?" Paige doesn't even bother arguing, and AJ laughs triumphantly.

"Any door with good foot traffic." AJ considers the house, and gestures to the kitchen door. "This one." She points up at the lintel, and Paige sighs dramatically, but she does obediently hang the mistletoe in the right spot. "There! Now it's good, and Christmassy in here."

"Christmassy..." Paige mutters, and rolls her eyes. "What's the point of all this stuff?"

"It looks nice..." AJ mumbles, and tweaks one of the baubles hanging on her skeleton tree. The Assistant's bag of tricks hadn't included a tree, but it did include the necessary decorations for one.

"And this? Because it looks like a stupid plant stuck to my door for no reason. It does _not_ look nice." Paige gestures to the mistletoe pinned above the door. AJ bounds over to her, a grin on her face.

"Well..." AJ moves in closer, nudging her to be perfectly under it. AJ leans up, and presses a kiss to Paige's cheek. She rushes over to the other side of the room quickly, leaving Paige to gently touch her cheek, a confused expression on her face, and a blatant blush making it's way across her pale face.

"Well?" She prompts, her gaze turned up to the mistletoe. "Is it some kind of aphrodisiac? I'm guessing it only works on the Living if it is..." She plucks the little sprig down, and turns it around and around.

"It's not..." AJ takes a slight step closer once more. "It's more like a tradition... You guys have those here, right?"

"Something we do, because we always have?" Paige laughs, and puts the mistletoe back up in it's place. "Of course, we've _lots_ of them." She chuckles, and beckons AJ over to her. Once AJ's close enough, she moves her into position under the mistletoe. "So this is the tradition?" She kisses AJ's cheek gently.

"Well... A kiss under the mistletoe. That's is the tradition, so yeah." She smiles brightly, and Paige nods absently. "So, I've other awesome Christmas traditions we can try, and then the boys in the lab are gonna come up." AJ tries to move away, but Paige holds her fast. "Huh?"

"I like this tradition." Paige says calmly, her eyes narrow slightly, and her tongue flicks out to wet her lips.

"Uh... Okay? That's good... There's lots of other tradi-" AJ's cut off by Paige's lips brushing over her own. It's a soft if slightly cold kiss.

"Like I said, I like _this_ tradition." Paige smirks, and leans in for another kiss.

* * *

 _My Christmas collection this year is once more fics inspired by Christmas Songs._

 _First up we have **Making Christmas from A Nightmare Before Christmas**. I love that movie far too much_

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	2. Winter's Tale

_Warnings: Slash (Marty Jannetty/Shawn Michaels), smut, angst, drug use._

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He's late. It shouldn't be a surprise, but it is. Life is preparing to take them in different directions, so these things happen, but he thought he meant enough to be on time for. It's nothing more than a motel room. It's not exciting, or romantic. It's probably not good enough for him any more. If it ever was. It's not hard to consider that. Partners mean more to some people than others. Shawn's always been the flashy one. The brash one. The bold, vibrant, beautiful one. He's like honey, attracting flies, and Marty, he's like vinegar. One or two might have a look, but he's not what they want. Shawn is, and Marty had come to accept that. He'd hoped he saw the truth, what was behind their differences, but Shawn's not known for his being observant, or considerate, of other people.

In the beginning things had been different. In the beginning they'd been tight. Success had come, and the more success came the more Marty realised that he's not the one it's for. Tag-teams split, that's what they do, but putting your partner's head through a window isn't how most teams end. He understands though. Shawn is better at the game, and Marty'll be okay. He thinks, _hopes_ , he'll be okay when the time comes.

"Hey! You gonna open this fucking thing up or not?" There's a loud noise outside the door, and the familiar drawl of Shawn. "C'mon... I don't got all night." That comment confirms something painful to Marty. He'd wanted this to be a night where they talk things out, but that's not going to happen. This is one stop on a list of stops apparently. The Heartbreak Kid isn't just a gimmick after all.

"Hey." A pitifully small greeting to offer on what is to be a heartbreak. It's strange how final this feels, how like the calm before a storm. It's not how Marty usually feels when Shawn comes for a motel room visit usually.

"Gonna let me in?" Shawn barges past, and somehow thee room feels smaller. Shawn's not a _huge_ guy, but he's got a presence, _charisma_ in spades. "So..." He waves a hand around the room, a vague general movement to try and stir something out of Marty.

"Yeah... Beer?" Shawn looks over at Marty's words, and nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, beer me, man!" There's a manic edge to his grin, that Marty's sure isn't caused by Shawn's natural exuberance. He fishes a little bag out of his inner pocket, and starts setting out a line. "You want some?" He asks, snorting it down swiftly. Marty shrugs, and watches Shawn swipe under his nose a few times, his grin stretching. "It's good stuff." He offers once more.

"I'm good... Not in the mood for that tonight." He mumbles, opening Shawn's beer, and handing it to him.

"No? _Alrighty_! More for me." Shawn cackles, and downs a substantial amount of beer, then starts cutting another line. "So... Why am I here?" Marty bites back a sigh, and sits on the bed, regarding Shawn absently.

"Dunno." He shrugs, and Shawn sighs dramatically.

"The team's splitting up... Not _us_." He flops down beside Marty. "C'mon... It'll be fun. I'll go be super famous, and you'll be slightly less famous, and it'll be awesome! Even more awesome! Wanna get some girls up here? Have some sexy, fun times with pretty ladies, and a super hot dude?" He grins at Marty. "Jesus... You're no fun... What the fuck am I doing here if it's not to have fun?"

"I... I thought... Just go if you're bored, Shawn." Marty stands, and takes the line Shawn had left on the dresser. He's never been a huge fan of coke, it makes his snappy, but when in Rome you do as the Roman's do, and when with Shawn you do as he does.

"Make me unbored, and I'll stay." He laughs. Marty looks up, then shakes his head, prepping another line that Shawn will inevitably snort later.

"Unbored? How?" Marty wanders back over to the bed, and Shawn bounces to his feet. He pulls his shirt off, and smirks.

"You _know_." He's pulling what he clearly thinks is a coy expression, but it's more hilarious than anything else. Shawn is not coy, and he can't even pretend to be.

"I guess." It's not why Marty wanted Shawn to come to this room, but he'll take it. He'd wanted to talk about their relationship. He'd wanted to find out where he stands once the team splits up, but Shawn, being Shawn, isn't one for _talking_. He's a man of action. Words are used only to get him out of the trouble action has caused him.

"Good." Shawn reaches into his pants pocket, and tosses Marty a condom. "I'll get the party started." Shawn laughs to himself, and kicks off his shoes, then sheds his pants. He's not wearing underwear, but Marty's used to that. There's no one fonder of being naked than Shawn, so his cock is something you get used to seeing pretty quickly. He grabs his pants once more, and pulls a little bottle of lube from a pocket. It's not intended as a show, but Marty can't keep from watching Shawn opening his ass up. One finger becomes two quickly. His other hand roams his chest, tweaking his nipples, and stroking over his skin. "You gonna actually take your pants off?" He chuckle as he takes a hold of his cock. "Can't fuck me in pants, man." Marty doesn't argue that he could, so long as he opened his fly, fuck Shawn in pants. He, instead, takes them off, and then pulls his shirt over his head.

"So... How you wanna do this?" Marty's always a little trepidatious when it comes to this, and it's not helped by the fact coke always makes him a little squirrelly. Shawn rolls his eyes, and spreads his legs. He pulls his fingers out of his ass, and cocks an eyebrow. "Alright..." Marty positions himself between Shawn's thighs, and lines his cock up with Shawn's hole. There's a part of him that wants to lean in for the kiss, but Shawn's not big on kissing. He much prefers to use his mouth for talking, or at least making noise. He never gives blow-jobs, but he's very vocal in his enjoyment of them. Marty eases inside Shawn, thrusting shallowly, until Shawn bucks his hips in impatience. He speeds up after that, fucking in earnest, his hands braced on either side of Shawn's shoulders.

"Yeah, right there." Shawn moans, his nails digging into Marty's shoulders. "That's it. Harder. Faster." He pants, and Marty tries to comply. The drugs, and alcohol in his system making him feel like meeting Shawn's demands should be easy.

"You like that?" He grunts, and Shawn moans in pleasure. It's not what he wanted to happen, but it's how it was always going to go. Shawn is like a force of nature. He's impossible to resist, impossible to deny. It's not worth your time to even try. He's like gravity, escaping his pull is more than Marty's able to do. The split, the inevitability of Shawn's raise, the fall Marty sees for himself, it's all inevitable.

"Out." He snaps suddenly, and Marty moves off of him. Shawn stands on wobbly legs, his movements oddly slow and precise. "Lie down." Marty flops onto his back, and Shawn straddles his thighs, guiding Marty's cock back inside of him. "Yeah, that's it." Shawn moans, his head flung back, his hair clinging to the sweat forming on his chest. "Gotta love being on top." He grins, and Marty finds his words stolen by the sight. Shawn rides a cock like he was made for it, his thighs working smooth and steady, his hands splayed on Marty's chest. "The top's where I _belong_." He gasps, and Marty doesn't argue. He lies on his back watching Shawn ride his cock.

"Want me to give you hand?" He manages to get out, watching Shawn's cock bob up and down, a little trickle of pre-come at the tip had been mesmerising, but Marty wants to help him out.

"Already are." Shawn grins, and Marty doesn't think too long, or too hard about that. He will later, but in the moment it's a random throwaway comment. Marty takes a hold of Shawn's cock, stroking it in time with his movements. "Faster." He snaps, and Marty quickly follows the order, moving his hand faster. "Tighter." Once more Marty does as he's told. He's learned that arguing with Shawn won't get you anywhere, that doing as he asks saves time, and effort. Shawn comes loudly, but Marty's learned that Shawn does most things loudly. He follows shortly after, coming quietly, pulling out, and grabbing something from the floor to clean up with. Shawn is one of those men who once he's come, he's out like a light, but Marty's not in the mood for sleeping. After a few hours of lying in bed, he gets up. He can't sleep, the beer and the coke aren't sitting well with each other. Shawn makes a grumble of noise as Marty gets out of bed, then wraps the covers around himself tighter, leaving none for Marty if he decided to try to sleep once more.

"Gonna take a shower, okay?" Marty calls over to Shawn, watching him squirm around in bed a little.

"Whatever, don't care. Sleeping." The reply is giving grudgingly, and Marty shakes his head at his soon to be former tag-team partner.

In the shower his mind tries to pick a topic to think about, but it's too fidgety. It flits from his future, to his present, to his past. He's not sure where it wants to land, but Shawn's a constant in it's considerations. He's enjoyed being Shawn's partner, as much as anyone can, and he's not certain he's going too enjoy being Shawn's past. On his way out of the bathroom he snags the present he'd had stashed in his luggage, left in the bathroom for sake of neatness. It's nothing special, not really, just a little something for Shawn to remember him by once they're apart. He's not looking forward to being the past, and he wants to make sure there's a reminder of him in Shawn's life. Shawn's prone to not looking back, he's too focussed on what's in front, but Marty wants to be remembered, and this Christmas present is about the only thing he could think of.

"So, I know it's a little late and all, but I was gonna give you this last night-" When Marty re-enters the bedroom, it's empty save a scrawled note.

 _Gotta run! Remember to gig!_

The Christmas present drops from his hands. He's already helping Shawn. He's already providing the launch pad for his rise to the top. Shawn doesn't need any more than that. The love story Marty had provided their tale was entirely one-sided. Shawn is the cream, and Marty is the milk underneath. He's not important in the grand scheme of things, and last night was the _last_ night. The note, the unsigned, uncaring note confirms that. This was a stepping stone for Shawn, and Marty Jannetty will be little more than a footnote in the Shawn Michaels story.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed my first ever piece of femslash:

 **Moiself, Rebellecherry, Demangel Dog,** **and kathy. dietrich. 98**

 _Second we have **Winter's Tale**_ , as requested by **Moiself.**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	3. Underneath the Tree

_Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), smut, Angst, AU._

* * *

"It's gonna fall over, Colt! Fucking grab it." Punk snaps, and his best friend looks at him in exasperation. Punk grabs the other side of the tree, and hauls it back into position. "Tighten the stand thingie."

"Punkers, I have two fucking hands. You want me to hold your fucking tree in place, or do you want me to tighten the stand, because I can't do fucking both." Colt sounds half-annoyed, but Punk can't really blame his friend. He's been a pain in the ass all day, and he knows it, but he has good reason. His lover is _finally_ coming home after a long tour. He'd known that dating a soldier would be difficult, but when Dean's away from home for so long it's almost like being single, and Punk worries more than he should that it's like that for Dean too. He's met a lot of Dean's buddies from his platoon, and it's ridiculously unfair that Dean appears to be part of Team Stupidly Handsome ™. It makes Punk worry in a stupid way, because he knows Dean loves him, but temptation is a very real thing, and such is life. The mind is a terrible thing, and it's prone to dwelling on things that makes you unhappy. " _Punkers!_ " Colt snaps, and Punk smiles up at his friend.

"Uh... Keep a hold of the tree, I'll get this." He starts screwing the supports further into the tree trunk.

"You alright, Punkers?" Colt asks, his attention clearly distracted by something, and Punk doesn't really want to pry too much into his friend's affairs without invitation. He's learned that Colt might seem super open, but really he's very much in his head over most things. He'll bring his problems up when he thinks it's appropriate, and there's a selfless streak in him a mile wide, so he'll let Punk vent on his own problems for hours before even thinking of mentioning his own.

"I'm just... He's gonna be home this year, and I want it to be perfect." Punk tighten the last screw, and stands up. "Let it go."

"If you were looking for perfect, maybe this should have been done sooner?" Colt lets go of the tree, and stands beside Punk. "It's squint."

"It's fucking well isn't squint, bastard." Punk smacks his friend's arm, and scowls at the tree. "Is it squint? It doesn't look squint to me." Punk pokes at the tree carefully, half expected it to tumble over. "I should have done this weeks ago... Jesus... Why do I leave everything to the last minute?" He sighs, and Colt laughs at him.

"You're such a drama-queen when you're stressed. We've all day to make this place look _Christmassy_." Colt sits on the couch, and starts rifling through the bags of decorations Punk had bought. "We could call in back-up... One of those decorator people?" He offers, as he absently starts toying with a bauble. Punk carefully snatches it from him, with a scoff.

"No. This is a personal mission." He considers hanging the sparkling trinket on the tree, but he thinks baubles should be added last.

"Personal mission that I've been dragged into?" Colt laughs, and Punk nods without look back at his friend. "Alrighty... So what's next?"

"Tree's last, the needles need to relax, so uh... Roof?" Punk mutters, tossing the bauble back to Colt, trusting his friend to catch it.

"Roof-roof, or ceiling roof?" Punk hears Colt get to his feet, and come to stand by him. "I'm not prancing about on your roof in the snow. You're my buddy, Punkers, but I'm not risking a broken neck for you."

"Inside roof, idiot." Punk gestures vaguely at the bag of decorations on one chair.

"What is it?" Colt asks as he starts fishing the ceiling decorations out of the bag. "And don't even try telling me it's nothing, because I know it's something."

"It _is_ nothing, Colt." Punk mumbles. He shakes his head a little, and goes to grab the ladder.

"Punk." There's a warning to the edge of Colt's voice, and he holds up two different garlands. "Red or Gold? And don't make me _Philip_ you, because we both know I can, and I will."

"Don't you fucking dare." Punk ascends the ladder, and considers the layout of the room. "Gold. It's just me being stupid, that's all."

"Here. So no change from normal... What's this latest bout of stupid then?" Colt hands over the gold garland, and then a box of thumb-tacks.

"I miss him." Punk starts pinning the garland in place, and Colt sighs beside him. "He's never here. He was away for his birthday, he was away for my birthday. He's seen the dog twice, and I've had him for over a year... It's like I'm dating a ghost." Punk sighs heavily, and Colt hands him the red garland.

"It's been like this for years though... It's... Whys it bother you so much now?" Colt helps Punk move the ladder into position to pin the other end of the red garland to the roof.

"It's always bothered me, but he's been gone for longer, and longer. I'm... I'm getting _old_ , Colt." Punk sighs, as he climbs he ladder. "There's a reason he's been gone for so long, and I'm it." Punk laughs, and then clings to the ladder when Colt smacks it.

"He loves you, you fucking moron." Colt scowls up at Punk. "He's good at his job, of course they want him to do it more."

"His job could get him killed, Colt." Punk snaps, and rams the tack into the roof, pinning the garland in place. "His job is being shot at. He might love me, but he loves his country more."

"It's not a contest." Colt offers, and Punk clambers down the ladder.

"I know... I just worry." Punk rubs his temple, and leans against his friend. "I don't want him to die."

"At least not without a guarantee of his pension." Colt laughs, and slings his arm around Punk's shoulders.

"Yes, that's it." Punk laughs along, and ignores the gnawing pain in his gut, the old familiar pain of thinking about Dean being a soldier. "C'mon enough slacking... We've a whole house to get ready for my man."

It takes the rest of the day to finally get the place looking festive enough Punk's liking. A day where they both avoided talking about the impending return of Punk's boyfriend, because Punk has learned the hard way that if he gets too excited for Dean coming home, Fate likes to intervene, and delay his return.

 _Sorry babe... My flight's been delayed. I'll get back later than I said, BUT_ _I will be home for Christmas! - Deano_

The text message had arrived at around six, and since then Punk's been sulking. It's childish, but Punk can't help it. He's used to Fate keeping Dean from him, but at least he's on his way. It's not a total loss, but even a short delay eats into the scant time Punk gets with Dean. He ends up eating ice-cream straight from the carton, pretending to watch TV, whilst actually trying to work out how many times Dean's been delayed on his way home. It's at around eleven that Punk realises he's not put the presents under the tree. He had remembered to wrap them, but they're still in his closet. He hauls them, and the blanket from his bed to the living room. He bundles himself up, and starts arranging the gifts. He wants it to look perfect for when Dean arrives, which judging by the time, now a little after midnight, so his coming home will be Punk's Christmas present, won't be until the morning. Punk flops onto his back once the presents are sorted to his liking, and stares up at the dancing lights. He's always liked Christmas lights, and in the darkness they're particularly pretty. He falls asleep underneath the tree, without thinking about how stupid, and how much of a fire risk it is.

"Hey." Punk blinks awake slowly, and can't stop the grin that's spreading over his lips. Still dressed in military green, looking haggard, and tired, is Dean. No matter how exhausted he looks, he's still the most handsome man Punk's ever seen, still the best thing in the world to wake up to. "You my present?" He chuckles, his hand sliding from Punk's shoulder to his chest, slipping between the buttons of his pyjamas. Dean strokes over his skin, and Punk arches into the gentle touch, still not really awake.

"Dean?" He mumbles, and Dean chuckles once more.

"Who else is gonna be molesting you under our tree?" Dean removes his hand, and strokes over Punk's cheek. "It looks nice." He taps the end of Punk's nose, a thoughtful look on his face. "Why you sleeping on the floor?"

"Was waiting for you to get home." Punk smiles slightly, and sits up. "You look tired... Go shower, and I'll make you some coco." Punk moves to stand, but Dean sits down on the floor by the tree, and pulls Punk into his lap. He buries his face against Punk's neck, and takes a deep breath.

"You smell good." His voice is deep, and rough. His arms tighten around Punk, holding him fast. "I've fucking missed you." He presses a kiss against Punk's neck. "It was a fucking long tour... Too long." He lifts his head, and meets Punk's eyes. "I've missed you so much." He cups Punk's face, and stares at him. The staring lasts for a lot longer than Punk's entirely comfortable with, but he can't bring himself to break the eye contact. He's missed Dean as much, if not more than Dean's missed him. The separation is the worst thing about dating a soldier.

"I've missed you too." Punk says quietly, and Dean kisses his forehead. "Go on, shower... You've gotta be tired."

"And dirty." Dean smiles, and strokes Punk's back slowly. It's like he's trying to reassure himself that Punk's really in his arms. "It's a fucking mystery."

"What?" Punk asks, confused by the comment.

"Huh? Oh... The guys... We were talking about how we manage to leave our better halves at home. I've no idea how I manage to leave you here... Gotta be crazy to leave you behind." Dean smiles softly, and presses his lips to Punk's lightly. "So... I shower, you make me coco, _and_ I get welcome home sex?" Dean laughs, letting Punk go. Punk stands, offering his hand down to Dean.

"Maybe... Depends on how long you are in the shower." Punk laughs, and Dean lets him haul him to his feet. Dean leans in for a kiss once he's standing.

"I can be _very_ quick." He chuckles. Punk rolls his eyes, and pulls out of his embrace.

"Coco takes ten minutes... If you're ready first..." Punk doesn't even bother finishing the sentence, Dean's already off. Punk shakes his head, and starts making the coco. It doesn't matter if Dean takes an hour to shower, there's no way Punk wouldn't have sex with him.

"Was that quick enough?" Dean presses himself to Punk's back, just as Punk finishes dropping mini marshmallows into Dean's coco. His skin is still slightly damp, and Punk can feel the moisture seeping through his pyjama shirt. "I'm getting you all wet." Dean laps at the side of Punk's neck.

"I should take this wet shirt off... Don't wanna catch my death of cold." Punk can feel a smirk form on his lips when Dean starts unbutton his shirt from behind. "Drink your coco." Punk slips from Dean's arms, and wanders into the living room. He sheds his pyjama pants, and then the shirt. He keeps moving to the bedroom, and tosses his pyjamas on the bed, then grabs the lube from the drawer he usually keeps it in.

"So... Welcome home sex under our tree?" Punk smirks, as he re-enters the living room. Dean's eyes roam over his body, lingering here and there.

"Yeah... Put on a show for me while I drink this?" Dean asks softly, and Punk nods absently. He settles on the armchair opposite Dean, resting his heels on the arms of it. He opens the lube, and generously coats two fingers. He slowly eases one, then the other into himself. There's always something _slightly_ naughty about letting Dean watch him like this. It's something Punk at once loves, and is embarrassed by. Dean's gaze is riveted to where Punk's fingers move inside of his body. "You've barely played with yourself since I've been gone, have you?" Dean asks softly, and Punk shakes his head.

"What's the point when you're not here?" Punk moans softly, and tilts his head back, baring his throat to Dean. "No fucking dildo can do what you can..."

"You miss me too much to jack off?" Dean downs the last of his coco, and comes over to Punk. He's wearing nothing more than a towel, and he drops it on his way over. "Jesus... You're fucking gorgeous." Dean leans down, and kisses Punk. His fingers brush over Punk's filled hole. "C'mere." Dean lightly tugs on Punk's wrist, and Punk takes his fingers from inside his body. Dean pulls him to his feet, and kisses him. Dean's kiss is like fire, all consuming, and hot. His tongue, his lips, his teeth, they all stoke a flame in Punk. When he's alone he feels like he's divided in two, with Dean home, Punk feels complete. Dean eases him to lie on the blanket, lying forgotten on the floor. Punk lets Dean kiss down his throat, his hands rubbing over Dean's shorn hair. When they'd first met Dean's hair had been messy mop, but the military makes him keep it short. Punk's hoping that when Dean's released, or leaves, he'll grow it out once more. Punk had liked having hair to card his fingers through. "I miss you too much to not jack off." Dean chuckles in Punk's ear, and a shiver runs through Punk's body. "I close my eyes, and I can see you there... Naked, hard, and soft..." Dean's hand runs down Punk's thigh as he talks, then back up to nudge Punk's legs wider apart. "I think about how good you feel around me, how good you feel beneath me... On top of me." Dean rolls them over, and stares up at Punk. "Ride me?" Punk nods slightly, and realises that they've left the lube on the chair. He slips out from under Dean to go grab it, but is surprised when Dean presses his face against the chair's seat. "Can I eat you?" Dean asks suddenly, and Punk can't hold back a laugh.

"You really can't decide what you want, can you?" Punk chuckles, and looks at Dean over his shoulder. "You know I'm not gonna turn you down." Punk braces himself against the chair, and Dean presses a kiss to his ass-cheek.

"I've missed you." He offers as a defence. Punk reaches behind himself, and holds his ass-cheeks apart, offering Dean free-reign to do as he wants. The first lick is short, little more than a timid exploration, but soon Dean is lapping at Punk's hole. The first time Dean breaches the tight ring of muscle has Punk swearing softly under his breath. Dean's tongue drives in and out a few times, but he seems restless. His hands moving over Punk's thighs, to his cock, and back again.

"Later." Punk gasps suddenly, and Dean stops his ministration. "Later, eat me later. I want you to fuck me." Punk squirms, and Dean offers him one last long lick.

"On your back." Dean moves away, and lets Punk flop down onto his back.

"Remember the lube." Punk chuckles, and Dean snorts, but does reach back behind him, and grabs the lube, coating his cock generously. He uses the excess lube. on his fingers, in Punk's hole, and is between Punk's thighs before he can really process what's happening.

"I've missed you... So I'm not sure how good this is going to be." Dean smiles awkwardly, and thrusts in carefully. Dean keeps easing forwards until his balls are resting against Punk's ass. Punk wraps his legs around Dean's waist tightly holding him in place.

"Stay still for a little bit." Punk murmurs, and clings. He misses being filled when Dean's away, and he savours each second they're joined like this. Dean nods, and rests his forehead against Punk's.

"Long as I can." Dean murmurs, and Punk closes his eyes. He'd noted that Dean didn't say _long as you need_ , but that's because Dean can't stay as long as Punk needs. Punk needs him forever, and Dean can only stay as long as the army will let him.

"Okay." Punk loosens his grip slightly, and Dean starts to move, slow and steady. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean's gaze hasn't wavered from Punk's face. He's staring down in what feels uncomfortably like awe at Punk.

"You're tired, I'm tired... I said fuck me, and I meant it." Dean laughs at Punk's words, and instantly his hips speed up. He starts fucking Punk in earnest, and Punk throws his head back, moaning wildly. Each thrust builds Punk's orgasm deep inside of him. Each second Dean's inside of him reinforces Punk's knowledge that Dean is the one person who deserves to be there. Each deep, hard stroke has Punk gasping, and moaning, his hand slipping between their bodies to take his own cock in hand.

"I'm really not on my game." Dean pants in Punk's ear. "I'm gonna come pretty soon, babe." He presses a kiss to Punk's hair, and Punk laughs breathlessly.

"Yeah, don't feel too bad about that." It's a fairly wordy warning, but Punk's always been to verbal in that respect, and his orgasm washes over him. His body trembling in pleasure. Dean stills as Punk comes, but as soon as Punk's lazily opened his eyes once more, Dean starts to pound him, seeking his own ending. Dean comes with his face pressed against Punk's neck, his breath hot and wet. "Love you." Punk mumbles, and Dean nods, pressing a kiss to Punk's skin.

"Love you too, Punkin." Dean pulls out, and smiles over at Punk. "I'm dead... I could sleep here." He yawns, and Punk nods lazily, but he forces himself to his feet.

"C'mon..." He offers Dean a hand, and Dean accepts it, a sullen pout on his face. "You'll sleep better in bed."

Punk wakes to the scent of bacon, and he drags himself out of bed, trying to fix his hair on the way to the kitchen. He gives it up as a lost cause, his hair is rarely tamed by anything but gel, and a comb. In the kitchen, Dean's busy at the stove, his back turned to the door, allowing Punk the opportunity to watch him. He's singing along to some random Christmas pop song, his hips swaying in time with the music.

"I was gonna bring you this in bed, but seeing as you're up you can get on with the coffee." Dean calls out suddenly, and Punk ambles over to the coffee pot. "You sleep alright?" Dean creeps up behind Punk, his arms wrapping around Punk's waist.

"Yeah... Why?" Punk turns in his arms, and debates kissing him. Morning breath isn't the most pleasant thing in the world, but Dean is so rarely home that Punk wouldn't object to it. Dean makes the decision for him, leaning in to claim a slow, soft kiss.

"You weren't having good dreams, baby." He says when he breaks the kiss. "You look tired..." Dean strokes under one of Punk's eyes, over the dark marks, and bags, Punk knows is there. Punk tries to remember what his dreams were about, but draws a blank, and can offer no more than a shrug to Dean's comment.

"I'm fine." He smiles, and Dean raises an eyebrow, but relents. He turns back to his cooking, and lets Punk get on with his coffee.

"You're a bad liar." Dean doesn't turn around, and Punk glances over at his back. His shoulders look tense, and Punk takes a deep breath, hoping this isn't going to be a fight so soon into Dean's holiday leave.

"I don't remember my dreams." Punk thinks his voice must have been drowned out by the coffee machine, because Dean doesn't answer. He starts plating breakfast up, and sets two plates down on the table. Punk adds the coffee pot, and two cups to the table.

"I've got a present I need you to open before you open all the others." Dean says once Punk's taken his seat. Punk moves to stand, and Dean waves him back down. "I won't be a second, just wait there." Dean leaves the room, and Punk considers what this gift could be. His mind is conjuring all manner of terrible things, and another puppy. He loves his dog, and he thinks Dean at least tolerates having the dog in the house. He's not there often so the dog is suspicious of him, and Dean gets jealous of how often the small creature sits snuggled up to Punk, but he's also very kind to the dog, so Punk thinks the pair have an uneasy truce. A puppy Dean would no doubt declare to be his, and try to convince it in the short time he's on leave that Dean, and not Punk, is its master. "Here." Dean comes back, and hands Punk a plain envelope.

"What's this?" Punk asks turning it over. It's large, and plain, stamped with the military insignia.

"Open it." Dean grins, and Punk shakes his head, doing as he was told. He reads the papers, and then forgets how to breathe. His heart is racing, and Dean's wearing a stupid grin. "So... You happy?" Punk manages a nod. He can feel tears forming in his eyes, and Dean's grin somehow manages to get bigger. "Okay... So now..." Dean stands, and walks over to Punk. "I've the next present I want you to open." He comes closer to Punk, and Punk's certain his heart has stopped. He's utterly convinced Dean's about to propose, but instead Dean's boyish grin takes on a mischievous edge, and he whistles sharply. A small bundle of fluff comes running at the call, Punk's own dog following more sedately behind. Punk stares down at the pair of dogs. They seem to get on well, clearly Punk's cranky little mutt has been introduced to this little fluff ball puppy before. "Colt's been calling her Dog... But she's young enough that we can teach her a real name." Dean reaches down and scoops the little puppy up. "Cute isn't she?" Punk nods mutely, and accepts the puppy form Dean. It's stupid, but Punk can't stop his tears from falling. The envelope had contained Dean's discharge papers, honourable discharge with commendations, and all manner of glowing praise. Dean's going to be home from now on, and Punk's delighted, but there'd been a _tiny_ little part of him that'd wanted gift two to be a ring. A puppy is a wonderful addition, but there's that little bit that would like a ring on Punk's finger.

"I'm not imaginative, alright." Colt snaps suddenly. He wanders into the kitchen, and helps himself to some coffee.

"So that's how mutt-face got back." Punk smiles at his friend through his annoyingly watery eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. So, I'm here, do the thing, so I can go back to bed." Colt yawns, and takes a seat at the table.

"The thing?" Punk looks from his friend to his lover, and back again. "What thing?" Dean drops to one knee, and smiles awkwardly, his hand fumbling with something in his pocket.

"I'm a free man, and I promised myself, and Colt, that I'd not do this until I could promise to not make you a widower." Dean holds out a simple, plain band. "So, now that my job isn't being shot at, will you do me the honour of being my husband?" Punk offers his ring finger shakily. He watches Dean ease the ring on carefully, then he presses his lips to the little loop of metal as it sits on Punk's finger. "Say something."

"Oh for fuck sake, he's _clearly_ saying yes, Dean. Have I done my witnessing?" Colt grumbles, and Punk starts laughing.

"I am clearly saying yes." Punk confirms, and Dean smiles brightly up at him. "So... You'll be Mr Brooks, obviously."

"Sergeant Ambrose, and his spouse Mr Philip Ambrose." Dean counters, and stands. "You've done your witnessing, and are in my seat." Colt shrugs, and starts eating the hash-browns on Dean's plate.

"It's Christmas, it's like your duty to feed me." He smirks. "Although, I'll settle for this." He stands, and takes the hash-brown from Punk's plate too. "Merry Christmas, and congratulations, Mr and Mr Brooks."

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, and Rebellecherry** **.**

 _Third we have **Underneath the Tree by Kelly**_ ** _Clarkson_** , as requested by **Brokenspell77.**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	4. Merry Christmas, Darling

_Warnings: Slash (Finn Bálor/Hideo Itami), smut, Fluff, **Skype**_ _ **Notification**_ , _Finn's skype reply, Hideo's skype reply_.

* * *

 _ **Hideo is online**_

 _How is home? - 22:56_

 _Japan is hot... It is strange. - 22:56_

 _Hot? That's not the Japan I know! - 22:57_

 _I know! - 22:57_

 _When you say hot, do you mean like Florida hot? - 22:58_

 _I mean... wait! - 22:58_

 _You still there? - 23:03_

 _Unseasonably warm! I feel that was not worth the wait. - 23:04_

 _I'm sorry, my English is getting worse being back home. - 23:06_

 _Not home, back in Japan. - 23:07_

 _I know what you mean. - 23:09_

 _:D I'm glad one of us does! - 23:09_

 _Are you busy? Being Champion has to be fun. - 23:10_

 _It's busy. It's okay. - 23:10_

 _I can't complain! I mean it's great! Really! - 23:11_

 _I'm getting some really great matches, and it's fun! - 23:11_

 _That's good. - 23:15_

 _Is it strange there now? - 23:17_

 _Strange? - 23:17_

 _Strange without everyone. - 23:18_

 _Sami is injured. Kevin and Adrian were called up. - 23:19_

 _I miss them. - 23:19_

 _They're our friends, so it's different with them gone. - 23:19_

 _I miss them, but I – 23:20_

 _JESUS! Can I call? - 23:20_

 _I fucking miss you! - 23:20_

 _I decorated the house, and there's mistletoe – 23:21_

 _I wanna snog you under it – 23:21_

 _I got more lights for the tree, and I wanna fuck you on the couch – 23:22_

 _I wanna blow you by the window so you can see the awesome stickers – 23:22_

 _Finn! - 23:23_

 _I wanna bend you over, and eat you out whilst you try to find the right window in your advent calendar – 23:23_

 _Finn! - 23:23_

 _I'm waiting to do press. - 23:24_

 _This is not a good time... - 23:24_

 _Good things! Very good things! But, time no. - 23:25_

 _Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo – 23:26_

 _Sorry! I'll uh... right... I'm gonna be up for a while – 23:27_

 _So, message me when you're free, okay? - 23:28_

 _I'm sure 3 – 23:28_

 _Perv! - 23:29_

 _I'll let you know when I'm done here. - 23:29_

 _Later, love you! - 23:29_

 _I'll be waiting up. ;) - 23:30_

 _LOVE YOU TOO! :-* - 23:30_

 _ **Hideo is offline**_

Finn groans, and rolls away from his computer. The brief bout of messaging Hideo had done nothing to ease the loneliness of being without him. The more people leave NXT the lonelier Finn feels. First the injures, Hideo, then Sami. That'd been hard, Hideo more so than Sami, because Finn could see everything Hideo deserved being handed to him, and he'd not been sure how to take it. Hideo had been graceful in his pain. He'd been happy for Finn receiving the opportunities that had been intended as his, but Hideo is a far better person than most. Most people would have been resentful of their lover getting the success that had been intended for them. Hideo, however, had been even more excited than Finn when the bookers told Finn he'd be taking the title from Kevin. It was nice, but Hideo's enthusiasm didn't quite counter Finn's guilt. It's pointless guilt, and Finn knows that, but it's there all the same. He's hoping that eventually he'll get to work Hideo once he's better. His shoulder is coming along nicely, slowly healing up, but he can't _do_ much of anything, which was driving him insane in Florida. So, the WWE had let him head home on the proviso he did some promotional work for them. Promotional work isn't too hard for Hideo, he's a charming man, but it's driving Finn insane instead. Time, and distance aren't the best things for a new relationship. They've not really managed to coordinate a time to talk, and it's taking a toll. It'll be okay. It will be better when they're in the same time-zone, but until then it'll be okay.

It's probably slightly stupid, but since he's been gone, Finn's been sleeping in Hideo's bed. It's far firmer than his own, but it's much better than Finn's bed in that it sleeps like Hideo, and that helps him sleep better.

 _Freedom! - 02:45_

 _You are sleeping? -02:50_

 _I will try again later. - 02:51_

 _Sleep well. Have sweet dreams. - 02:51_

Finn curses when he wakes up to the missed messages. He's not got the time to talk this morning. He has to haul ass down to the Performance Centre, and be an example to everyone of how one is a good champion. He'd rather see if Hideo was _up_ like he was last night, but time isn't on his side.

 _Sorry! Tonight? What's the time difference? I'll be in about 8? - 06:37_

All day Finn silently hopes for a Skype notification, or some other indicator that his message has been received, but nothing comes, and he's got work to do. They're getting a few days off over Christmas, which is both nice, and unexpected. A few days that isn't anywhere near long enough to head to Japan, or even back to Ireland, so it'll be a few days in the US. He's not sure who's going to be about, but he's certain that someone will be remaining in place for him to hang out with.

The first thing Finn does, even before putting the kettle on, when he gets home is boot up his laptop.

 _ **Hideo is online**_

 _Hey! - 20:07_

 _Hello! :) - 20:07_

 _How was training? - 20:08_

 _Did they work you too hard? - 20:08_

 _Not too hard... Well not yet! (rofl) – 20:09_

 _You spend all day charming pretty young things? - 20:10_

 _All the pretty things I want charmed already are. ;) - 20:13_

Finn barks a laugh at Hideo's comment, and starts making a cup of tea. The computer chirps whilst his back is turned.

 _I'm bored. - 20:13_

 _I should have made you come with me. - 20:14_

 _I was in Akiba... I'm much poorer – 20:14_

 _I should not play pachinko – 20:15_

 _I'm bad at it. - 20:15_

 _Old women laughed at me... Then hit on me – 20:16_

 _Is that the right word? - 20:16_

 _I think it is, they asked me if I was single – 20:17_

 _Then were disappointed when I said no – 20:17_

 _That's hitting on someone, right? - 20:18_

 _I think it is... - 20:18_

 _Are you making tea? - 20:20_

 _I should make some tea. - 20:20_

 _I miss your tea – 20:21_

 _You make THE BEST TEA! 3 – 20:22_

 _MAKE ME TEA WHEN I COME HOME! - 20:23_

 _I watched the lego movie on the plane over – 20:24_

 _Did I tell you? It was awesome – 20:25_

 _EVERYTHING IS AWESOME! - 20:25_

 _I bought you presents... - 20:26_

 _Oh? - 20:27_

 _What presents? You gonna wrap them up for me? - 20:28_

 _You made tea? - 20:29_

 _Yup! Lovely tea! - 20:30_

 _Can I call? - 02:30_

 _ **Incoming call Hideo**_

"Hey!" Finn grins at the slightly grainy image of Hideo on the screen. His hair's in a mess, and he looks like he's still wearing his pyjamas. "You just up? It's after ten over there, isn't it?" Finn laughs, and Hideo nods.

" _It is. Wait for me_." He vanishes off screen. " _I don't think you have these ones... I'm hoping that it isn't too heavy to go on the plane, but I packed light._ " He doesn't reappear, instead a huge Lego box does, and Finn can't help but laugh.

"I've never even _seen_ that one before." The image of the box is replaced by a grinning Hideo. "You gonna help me?"

" _Hmm... Maybe... I got some Gundam kits too... I think Kevin's son might enjoy them._ " Hideo holds up another box with a picture of a giant robot on it.

"And by Kevin's son you mean you'll enjoy making it, and you want to justify it. Come and join the dark side, and just admit that you're a big kid with me." Finn smirks, and Hideo pulls a face as he processes what Finn just said. Once he's satisfied he understands what Finn just said to him, he sticks his tongue out.

" _I'm a fully grown, fully matured man_ " He intones solemnly.

"Who enjoys making model giant robots, and Ultaman... _Very_ mature, darling." Finn blows him a kiss, and Hideo rolls his eyes.

" _Fine, fine... I'm maybe a little immature._ " He concedes, and Finn grins at him. " _What have you been doing?_ "

"Nothing much really... Working, eating, sleeping... Nothing too exciting. How much did you lose on pachinko?" Finn settles down more comfortably on the couch, sipping at his tea.

" _I spent too much money... I did win once... It was a bad night. Today, I do something more productive._ " Hideo smiles, and takes a sip from his own mug. " _I'll be home after Christmas... You will leave the decoration up though? You said many things yesterday... I blame them for my losing._ " Hideo smirks, and Finn laughs. His comments yesterday come back to him, and Finn can feel a blush forming on his cheeks.

"Ah... Well... I do know how Christmas decorations get to you." Finn grins, and Hideo rolls his eyes.

" _Let me see them. I am doubtful of your abilities to make it look good without my help._ " Finn grabs the laptop, and starts wandering around the small living room. He first aims the camera at the mistletoe over the door.

"It's not seen any action yet, I'm sure it's disappointed." Finn chuckles, and a snort from Hideo comes over the speaker.

" _I'm sure that people will come to visit you, and it will see use then. I will be annoyed if you kiss other people_." He warns calmly, and Finn laughs once more.

"Noted. No kissing other people. I'll save all my kisses for when you're back." Finn sets the computer down, and plugs the Christmas tree lights in, then he flicks off the living room light.

" _Why is it... Oh! That's very pretty!_ " Hideo sounds suitably impressed with Finn's Christmas tree. " _It looks very festive... On the couch though? I think under the lights would be more suitable for sex... Maybe on all the paper from unwrapped presents... Though that might be uncomfortable..._ " Hideo's voice has dropped to a low rumble, and Finn closes his eyes picturing the image Hideo had briefly described.

"You make a good case for under the tree... We could move the rug over, it's plenty soft..." Finn clears his throat, and sets the laptop down once more, so he can turn the lights back on.

" _I believe there a stickers I am required to look at to get a blow-job._ " Hideo's voice is still rumbling and deep. Finn snatches up his computer, and carries it over to the window. It's festooned with snowflakes, and snowmen. It looks incredibly festive, and even if they were overly expensive, Finn thinks the little window clings were worth it. " _Did you actually buy one of the chocolate calendars?"_

"Yup!" Finn turns to where the advent calendar is sitting, entirely unopened waiting for Hideo.

" _So... You'll..._ " There's a pause, a surprisingly long pause, and Finn half worries the connection has dropped. " _Rim me for as long as it takes for me to open it all in order?_ " Hideo sounds almost triumphant, and not for the first time Finn feels guilty over the phrases Hideo learns to talk to him.

"Do you read the Urban Dictionary in your spare time?" Finn chuckles, and there's a vague agreeing noise from Hideo.

" _The chair isn't quite the right height to bend over though... I think the table would be better. Though if you are eating me, who will help me eat the chocolate..._ " Finn can't help the image Hideo's words conjure up. He sets the computer down, and pulls his shirt over his head, then settles on the couch. He's greeted by the sight of a now shirt, and trouser, less Hideo, sitting cross-legged on screen.

"When did..." Finn trails off, and Hideo laughs

" _Lose the pants._ " Fine does as he's ordered, and sits back down as naked as Hideo is.

"I've not been subtle, have I?" Finn chuckles, and Hideo shakes his head once. He moves back on the bed he's sitting on, bracing his back against the headboard.

" _Not in the least, though I do not mind when I have nothing to do._ " He smirks, and tilts his head to once side. " _Your hair is getting long.._ "

"Gonna give it a trim later... You look good. You are coming home soon, right?" Finn's gaze lingers over Hideo's body.

" _Hmm... Soon, but not soon enough. Lie back, let me see._ " He waves his hand at the screen, and Finn complies, moving the computer further away so it can fit more of him in shot. " _You are ridiculous... Gorgeous, but ridiculous._ " Hideo smiles, and Finn rubs his hand over his abs.

"You're jealous." He smirks, and Hideo nods.

" _I am. They're very nice. Lower."_ Finn moves his hand lower, cupping his ball, and squeezing lightly. " _Did you shave them again?_ " Hideo sounds slightly incredulous.

"Hey, no hair on the jewels means no hair in your teeth." Finn chuckles at his own comment, and curses the fact there's no lube, or even lotion to hand.

" _Under the middle cushion_." Hideo says suddenly, and Finn gropes under the cushion. He produces a bottle of lube, and Hideo laughs. " _You are the best at making a room look clean, without actually being clean. I knew you would not find it._ "

"Dick. If you were here, I'd smack your arse for that." Finn pours a little lube out, and starts stroking his cock. Hideo has finally taken his dick in hand, and stroking in time with Finn. "Once that little arse of your's was all good, and red, I'd get a blow-job from you, and then you'd be grateful I'd shaved."

" _Hmm... Maybe_." Hideo's eyes are little more than dark slivers, his lips parted, his hand speeding up.

"No maybe about it." Finn matches pace. "I'd bury my dick in your throat, and you'd be grateful for not having a nose full of hair."

" _I'm sure for some people that's okay... I am not shaving._ " Hideo runs the fingers of his free hand through his trimmed pubic hair. " _Something that sharp should not go somewhere so... Fragile? Is that the right word?_ " He closes his eyes. If he's trying to think of a better word, or just keep himself in the moment Finn isn't sure.

"Delicate... _Sensitive_... Like you little asshole." Finn offers suggestions, and Hideo's eyes open once more. "Your tiny, tight, little asshole... You do keep it nice and tidy, don't you?" Finn speaks from experience, Hideo's front might have some hair, but behind is smooth. A slight blush spreads over Hideo's cheeks, and Finn smirks at the screen.

" _Something I would appreciate from you. It is annoying to be dining in a thicket._ " Hideo has an unreasonably large grin on his face, and he squirms slightly, bucking into his hand.

"Thicket?" Finn chuckles.

" _Thicket... I... Word a day texts from Kevin... He sent me thicket this morning... His example was 'on his chest Sami has a thicket of hair'. It amused me... I think it is not just used for hair though._ " Hideo offers a slightly rambling explanation.

"Can we talk about Kev later? Right now we're talking about my arse, and you love my arse... You fucking love eating me out... Fucking love fucking me... Thicket and all."

" _It's a nice ass...I am very fond of it. I think it like it better than my own ass._ " Hideo grins, and Finn shakes his head.

"Yours is better... I don't do the cute little blushy thing you do whenever either one of us goes for the butt... I swear, you look like you're gonna start talking in the Mr Rabbit voice whenever I fuck you... You're too cute Usagi-chan."

" _Fuck you._ " There's no heat in Hideo's comment, only mild amusement. His hand, and breathing have speeded up. " _When I'm home, the first thing I'm gonna do is kiss under that mistletoe, then I'm going to turn you around, and fuck you. Hard, and fast... Fuck you until your scream my name._ "

"Oh?" Finn grins, his mind summoning memories of times Hideo has done just that. "Fuck me, Usagi-senpai!"

" _Finn..._ " It's a deep rumble, a low, deep, almost warning rumble, that has the hairs on Finn's arms standing on end. " _Stop talking, and just give me a visual._ " Finn laughs at the mild exasperation in Hideo's tone, and he does as he's asked. He falls silent, and lets his mind make up ideas based on the image laid out before him. Hideo's chest is heaving, his hand working as furiously as Finn's own, their eyes as locked as they can be over a computer screen. The hand not wrapped around Finn's cock, starts roaming his chest, tweaking a nipple, smoothing over his abs. " _Inside you?_ " Hideo asks softly, and Finn grabs the lube, taking his hand off his cock only as long as needed to open the bottle.

"Hey... Return the favour... Lemme see you finger yourself." As Finn had expected, a blush rushes to Hideo's cheeks. He bites back the urge to tease him, and slides his finger into his ass, his feet planted on the edge of the couch so Hideo can see.

" _Alright_." Hideo's voice has taken on the soft, breathy quality it always does when his own asshole is brought into play, and he grabs his own lube, coating a finger, before easing it inside of him. " _Hmm..._ " He moans softly, his head falling back. " _I may make you fuck me, rather than me fucking you when I'm first home_." A smile plays on his lips, and Finn wants little more than to kiss that smile. It's a beautiful expression that he adores.

"You close?" Finn asks quietly, and Hideo nods. "Good... I'm... I'm close."

" _Come for me._ " Hideo says quietly, and Finn works hard to do as he asks. His orgasm comes hard, and fast, moments before Hideo's own. It takes Finn some time get his breath back, but when he does all he can manage is a sleepy chuckle.

"I really fucking miss you." He grins, and Hideo nods slightly.

" _I should shower_." His voice is hazy, and dull. He absently starts lapping his cum from his fingers, his expression mild. " _I should achieve something today..._ "

"Achievement is over-rated, and your shoulder's still healing... Having a rest is a good thing." Finn offers, and casts around trying to find something to wipe his hand on. He finds his shirt, and supposes it'll do. He should shower too. It's still a little early for bed, but he's not against sitting around in his sleep clothes for a few hours. "Take it easy, okay?"

" _I will... I'll..._ " Hideo sighs, and sits up. " _I will be home soon._ "

"Yeah, and until then I'm gonna be thinking of all the exciting things we can do when you're home." Finn smiles, and tosses his shirt on the cushion beside him.

" _Tomorrow you can give me the improved list... I'd like to add cuddles on the couch._ " Hideo's smile is soft, and fond. A smile that fills Finn with something equally soft, and fond. " _I should get going._ " Hideo doesn't look like he's in a hurry to start his day, and Finn chuckles at him.

"Go on, get a move on. You've a day to waste." Finn grabs his underwear, and pulls it back on.

" _Hey! I was enjoying that!_ " Hideo laughs, and rubs a hand through his hair. " _If you're taking away the view, I suppose I should get going. I'll call tomorrow._ "

"You better! It's Christmas." Finn smiles, and Hideo nods. "Until then be good, I'll talk to you later."

" _You know I'm probably gonna message later... But yes, I'll be a good boy._ " Hideo smirks. " _Love you._ "

"Yeah, love you too. G'night." Finn cuts the call, and stands up.

 _If I'm a good boy does that mean I'll be on the nice list? - 22:46_

 _Why? - 22:47_

 _If I'm on the nice list I'm probably not going to get all the things on your list. - 22:49_

 _I would like to check things off your list. - 22:50_

 _Consider that my Christmas present. - 22:52_

 _Noted. Merry Christmas! - 22:53_

 _Now go lose at pachinko! - 22:54_

 _Ass. - 22:55_

 _Merry Christmas – 22:56_

 _Love you too! (in love) – 22:57_

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, guest, Kat, ajlette and VKxXx92** **.**

 _Fouth we have **Merry Christmas, Darling by the Carpeners**_ , as requested by **Moiself.**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	5. We Three Kings

_Warnings: Slash (Steve Austin/Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), smut._

* * *

Steve's not often backstage at WWE shows any more. When he's here it's usually for a reason, but this time it's mostly just to check in. His relationship with them isn't bad, nowhere near as bad as it's been over the years, but there's still some straining here and there. He mostly enjoys seeing the boys. It's nice to see the new faces, nice to put names to the faces Vince will occasionally mention. Some of them stand-out more than others. Some of them Steve likes better, but that's the way of human nature.

"Hello, sir." One of the first to greet him is one of the new boys, one of The Shield. It's a good little faction, just debuted none too long ago. The kid's hair's a scruffy mass of fluff, his eyes sharp beneath the unkempt fringe. He is, all in all, a good-looking son of a bitch, and Steve thinks he'll do just fine up on the main roster.

"Hey..." Steve trails off, and offers a slight smile. He's no idea what this kid is called.

"Jon Good, sir." He supplies, and Steve nods absently.

"Ambrose's the gimmick, right? I remember Vince telling me." Steve shakes the kid's extended hand.

"It is, sir." He smiles awkwardly, and Steve lets his hand go, then keeps going down the corridor. He'd clearly been making the kid uncomfortable, and there's one of the boys Steve wants to see more than the others.

"Finally gracing the Champ with your presence?" Punk's stretching when Steve enters his dressing room. He's contorted into some odd position that has to be uncomfortable, but he looks surprisingly at peace.

"Got delayed on my way." Steve takes a seat on a bench, and watches Punk twist in a different way.

"At catering judging by the way you look." Punk smirks, and Steve does nothing but roll his eyes. He's known Punk long enough to know when the teasing is just that. Sometimes Punk's _teasing_ is actually a pointed barb that is meant to, and usually does, niggle on your mind. When in the mood, Punk can be a caustic little shit.

"By some kid, actually." Steve shifts to get a slightly better view of Punk's stretched out form. "You're looking good, Punkster." Steve lets his eyes linger over the lines of Punk's body, noting a slight flush coming over his skin.

"Wanna say that louder?" He gripes, and Steve stands going over to Punk's sprawled form. He gives Punk's ass a firm smack, making him yelp, and collapse into a heap on the floor.

"Brat." Steve smirks when Punk glares up at him. "Kid said his name was Jon."

"Ambrose... He was asking for some advice." Punk rights himself, and sits up, his legs tucked up under him. "He's good though."

"Yeah..." Steve takes his seat on the bench once more. "He seems it."

"You jealous?" Punk crawls over, and rests his head against Steve's thigh.

"I got no reason to be. It's not like we're anything but occasional fuck buddies." Steve rubs his hand over Punk's shorn hair. He misses Punk wearing his hair long, but the shaved head suits the heel persona well enough, and it's Punk's hair. If he dyes it lavender, and wears it in pigtails it's still none of Steve's business. Punk laughs suddenly, and looks up at Steve.

"You're jealous." He crows, and Steve snorts dismissively at him. Jealous isn't quite the word Steve would use, but he is something.

"If it makes you happy, I suppose I can be jealous." Steve laughs, and Punk smirks up at him. "You working tonight?

"Promo I think... Who knows though, they'll change their mind a thousand times, and hand me a new sheet of paper every hour until the show closes." Punk raises to his feet, and flops down beside Steve. "I'm not doing anything just now though." Before Steve can answer there's a knock at the door. A runner pokes their head in nervously, and asks Steve to come with them. Punk waves him off, and Steve follows along, listening to the slightly disjointed explanation of what they'd like for him to do.

The show goes about as well as could be expected. Nothing untoward, or overly unplanned for happening. It's strange watching the show instead of being part of it. In Steve's day things had been different in so many ways. The major one being trust. Back in the day, Vince had trusted the boys more. Every little details wasn't micromanaged the way it is now. Back in the day, when you'd a mic in your hand you'd been trusted to speak from the heart, more or less, but now you've got a script, and you've got to deliver it. Matches had been more open to being planned on the fly, but now the ring is rigged up with more mics than a press conference, and unless you're good at calling quietly, there's less chance for it. Steve's none too sure what Vince is thinking when it comes to the product, but having seen the chaos, Steve thinks that the old man himself might be none too sure of that as well.

After the show he heads off in search of Punk. Watching the show, seeing the boys, that's only only two of the many reasons Steve's there. Getting the Champion on his own, and in a compromising position is one of the others. He can't quite put his finger on when exactly he started fucking Punk. He thinks it was so long ago that the first time has been lost to his appalling memory, but he doesn't regret it. There's something incredibly enjoyable about fucking the shit out of that cocky son of bitch. Punk's not exactly what you'd expect in bed. His brash, harsh shell crumbles under the slightest hint of tenderness, and he becomes soft, and pliant, almost but not quite submissive. It's the sort of unexpected, but thoroughly enjoyable surprise Steve likes best.

When he gets to Punk's dressing room, the door is open, and the Ambrose kid is inside talking to Punk. His head bent down low, his mouth almost at Punk's ear. Whatever he's saying seems to be having the opposite of the desired effect on Punk. Punk's shoulders seem to tense more, his lips pressing into a fine line. The kid tries changing tactics, but Punk waves him off, and both seem to deflate. The kid with dejection, and Punk with relief. The kid brushes past Steve, his eyes downcast, but focussed. He's clearly thinking about something. There's a brief moment of hesitation on Steve's part before he approaches Punk.

"Punkster... You look like shit." He takes the seat beside Punk, and nudges Punk's thigh with his knee.

"Why thank you." He mutters, his eyes falling closed as he rests his head back against the wall. "I feel like shit." He sounds miserable, and Steve reaches over to him, turning his face to Steve's.

"Get dressed, and we'll head back to your bus gimmick." He strokes his thumb over Punk's bottom lip, watching his mouth pull into a smile.

"Good plan." Punk stands, and shuffles off to the showers.

"Oh! Now I get it." Ambrose's voice comes from over by the still open door, and Steve turns to look at him. "I didn't know I was stepping on toes, sir." Steve watches the kid fidget, and then come into the room, closing the door behind him. "He's not happy." He stands in front of Steve, his eyebrows knit.

"That he is." Steve nods, and the kid catches his lower lip between his teeth, worrying at it slightly. "Not really any of your concern though, is it?" Steve stands, and lifts his head slightly to meet the kid's eyes. Ambrose backs down, his gaze averted, and on the floor.

"It could be." He offers, and Steve laughs slightly.

"You're a persistent son of a gun, aren't you?" Steve chuckles, and watches a smirk spread over Ambrose's lips. "That wasn't the first time he's said no, was it?"

"Not the first time, nor the last, but he's said yes plenty." Some sort of confidence seems to be coming over Ambrose, his posture relaxing. "It's like I said, I didn't know I was stepping on toes."

"Ain't no toes to be stepped on." Steve thinks the kid is gearing up for some kind of fight, but Steve's too old, and too wise to try his hand against some punk-ass kid, especially over some other punk-ass kid. Punk's ass is enjoyable, his company in bed more than welcome, but he's not worth getting into a fist fight over.

"Really?" Ambrose asks, his smirk still present. "Cause Punk's not usually so against the idea of me fucking him, and you, sir, are hanging around like a fly at shit."

"Charming." Punk's tone is dry, and scathing. The kid whirls around, and Steve can see the posture change immediately. In place of the arrogant swagger, there's rounded shoulders, and open arms.

"Now, I gotta ask myself a question." Steve moves to a better position, one against a wall, but between the two other men in the room. "Where you ever gonna tell me that you were fucking this kid, or was that something you decided was unimportant?"

"Is it?" Punk starts getting dressed, apparently unconcerned with his audience. Ambrose is distracted by checking him out, and Steve can't say he blames Ambrose overly for that. Naked Punk is damnedly distracting, but Steve has a mission, and he's not going to be diverted. Though Punk makes a good point. He's not sure if it is, or isn't important that Punk is fucking this kid. It's pretty much Punk's business who he does, and doesn't fuck, and Steve would be a terrible hypocrite to be jealous.

"I dunno." Steve shrugs, and Punk pulls his hoodie on. He looks between Steve, and Ambrose, his expression coolly calculating. "Seriously?" Steve laughs, and Punk smirks at him.

"You gonna say no?" Punk folds his arms, and Ambrose looks slightly confused.

"I'm taking priority... What I say goes." Steve folds his own arms, and Punk laughs.

"I don't... What the hell is going on?" Ambrose looks between the two, then folds his arms over his chest for good measure.

"The bus. It's closer, and I'm tired." Punk hefts his bag, and leaves the room. Steve meets Ambrose's eyes, and decides he should be upfront about what he and Punk have just decided.

"I've been fucking him for years. You've been fucking him for however long... He's decided he wants a three-way. Are you down?" It's a very simple way of putting it, and Steve's proud of how efficiently he managed to transfers the information.

"Three-way with you two..." Ambrose trails off, and then hefts his own bag, and leaves. "I think he's parked out back." He calls over his shoulder. Steve chuckles to himself, and switches out the lights. He thinks he likes Punk's kid a little more now. He appreciates a man who doesn't dwell, and who can make decisions quickly.

It doesn't take them long to end up in the little bedroom of the bus. Steve's busy kissing Punk, and attempting to get undressed, whilst Ambrose has succeeded in removing his clothes, and is working on Punk's. There's something curiously gentle in Ambrose's touches to Punk. His hands linger in a way that a fuck buddies usually don't. His kisses are more passionate, and there's something in the pit of Steve's belly that isn't happy about that. He can't say if it's jealousy, or indigestion, but there's something there. Punk is particularly mild under Ambrose, almost as though he's half asleep. He's almost still, his eyes half-lidded, watching Ambrose the way a tiger watches a mouse, considering if it's worth the effort to attack or not. Punk seems to decide it's worth the effort after all, his kisses grow more frenzied, and Ambrose moans softly. Steve moves so he's pressed against Punk' back, nipping little kisses over his shoulders.

"You're gonna scare the boy." Steve murmurs, and Punk laughs softly.

"He's a big, tough, man... He'll be fine." Punk twists in Steve's arms, and kisses him once more. Steve runs his hands down Punk's back, squeezing his ass, much to the audience's appreciation. Ambrose's own hands come into play, holding Punk's ass-cheeks open. The moment the kid starts rimming Punk, he melts in Steve's arms. Soft, wispy breaths bath Steve's collar-bone as Punk gasps and moans at Ambrose's ministrations.

"He's gonna need more than that." Steve watches over Punk's shoulder, and Ambrose nods. "You got the lube?"

"Yeah, right here, sir." Ambrose holds up the bottle, and coats two of his fingers. He coats a couple of Steve's as well, and the two of them start on prepping Punk's ass. First one finger from Ambrose, then another from Steve. They work up to two from each, and Punk's wriggling between them, trying to fuck back against the fingers prying his body open. Once they've deemed Punk ready, Ambrose lies flat on his back, and gestures to his cock. Punk takes the hint, and straddles his thighs, still facing Steve. Ambrose guides his dick into Punk's ass, and pulls down on Punk's hips, sheathing his length in Punk's body.

"Fuck baby... You feel so good." Ambrose moans, and Punk smirks slightly. He grabs the lube, and coats some of his own fingers. "What you doing, Punkin?" Ambrose asks softly, and Steve settles more comfortably on the bed, watching Punk slowly ease a finger along side Ambrose's cock.

"You serious?" Steve moves closer, and snags the bottle of lube from Punk. He coats his own fingers, and starts helping to stretch Punk even more. "You're tight, Punkster... You'll be paying for this in the morning."

"Don't care." Punk mutters through gritted teeth. "I want two, and I'm getting two." Steve rubs his spare thumb over Punk's lips, and Punk nips at it.

"You got this pretty mouth... Two cocks, two holes..." Steve trails off when Punk's tongue starts lapping at his thumb.

"Two cock, one hole." Punk says firmly, and bites down lightly. "Try." He lifts himself up slightly, and Steve moves into a better position to attempt penetrating Punk's ass.

"You're gonna have to lie back. He's a big kid, I'm sure he'll be able to take you lying on him for a little bit." Steve presses against Punk's asshole, listening for any sounds of Punk being overly in pain. The only noises from Punk are heavy pants, and quiet moans. Ambrose is stroking over Punk's chest from behind, talking softly, trying to distract Punk. It takes some time, but eventually Steve is buried inside Punk's body alongside Ambrose. Punk's breathing is fast, and shallow, his lungs working like he can't get enough air.

"Gimme a minute." He pants, and Steve starts pressing soft kisses to Punk's face, eventually settling into a languid kiss. "Okay." Slowly they start moving. Ambrose thrusting up, Steve thrusting down, and Punk trapped in the middle with nowhere to go, his cock rubbing along Steve's belly. He takes it beautifully, his mouth open as he pants, and gasps, his skin flushed, his eyes half-closed. Ambrose's youth seems to give him the advantage. He thrusts up into Punk quick and firm, his cock rubbing against Steve's, sending shivers of pleasure through him. It's an interesting experience, another man's cock trapped so tightly to Steve's. The knowledge of the reason the two cocks are pressed so tightly together merely egging on Steve's pleasure. Punk's body is usually tight enough, but stuffed as he is, Punk's tightness is almost suffocating. Ambrose's youth has a downside though, and he's the first to fall. The feeling of his cum against Steve's cock is unexpected, and odd. He's been involved in threesomes before, but never one where two cocks were occupying one hole, and the extra lubrication feels utterly foreign. Punk's nails are digging into Steve's shoulders, his eyes clamped shut, his face contorted into a mask of pleasure, and Steve can't help but kiss him.

"I'm gonna pull out now, Punkin. Steve'll take care of you." Ambrose presses a kiss to the side of Punk's head, and he lifts Punk's hips up as much as he can. Steve tires to help, but without taking his cock out of Punk's ass his help is limited. He could pull out, but there's something about being inside of Punk as Ambrose's cock eases out, as the overly worked muscle slowly begins to try and tighten up once more, that Steve doesn't want to miss. Punk makes an odd wheezing sound when Ambrose's cock is removed, and Steve slides his hands under Punk's shoulder blades, holding him closer.

"I got you, Punkster." He mutters. Punk's mouth seeks out his own, taking a fierce kiss. Ambrose squirms out from beneath them, and Steve presses Punk back down against the bed, muttering soft platitudes to him.

"Steve... Slowish, okay?" Punk's voice is quiet, and Steve nods down at him.

"I hurt you?" Ambrose inserts himself into the conversation, and Steve bites back the urge to snap at him. It's a stupid question, and Steve almost wants to ask if Ambrose would like two cocks up his ass to see if it hurts, but Punk half-laughs, half-moans beneath Steve, one of his hands loosen their death grip on Steve's shoulders, and snags the back of Ambrose's neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

"Two cocks isn't something I've taken in a _long_ time." Punk almost purrs, and out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see a flush coming to Ambrose's cheeks. "It's... _Unfamiliar_." Steve shakes his head, and lowers it so his mouth is level with Punk's ear.

"You've taken two cocks before? Little slut." Steve drawls, and Punk shivers slightly in his arms. "I always thought you were a sweet little thing." He thrusts into Punk slowly, and Punk's legs come up to wrap around Steve's waist.

"Nope." Punk smiles. "Filthy, little slut." His smile grows into a feline-like smirk, and Steve starts fucking him harder. Punk had asked for slow, and Steve thinks that whilst going slow might be a better idea, it's not what Punk really wants. What Punk needs, and Punk wants are to very different things, and more often than not he seems to get neither, at least professionally, so Steve can't resist the urge to indulge him a little.

"You're gonna be so sore in the morning." Ambrose settles down beside Punk, his hand resting on Punk's cheek, keeping his face turned away from Steve. "Good thing I'll be there to kiss it better." Steve snorts, and thrusts into Punk harder.

"Well, when I'm done here, you can make a start." Steve leans over, and snarls into Ambrose's ear. "Once I've come in his sore little hole, you can start kissing it all better. What you think, Punkster? Sounds like a good plan?" Punk's eyes have widened, and Steve knows that he very much approves of the plan. If Ambrose does, or doesn't is another matter. The youngest of the three has frozen in place, and with his head turned, Steve can't work out what's going on in his mind. It's a fairly degrading act, eating another man's cum out of your irregular lover's ass, especially if Ambrose isn't into the idea, but if he is then Steve's very up for watching it.

"Is that an order, sir?" There's an edge to Ambrose's voice, a heavily aroused edge, and Steve meets Punk's eyes trying to work out if Ambrose is really as into the idea of it being an order as he sounds. Punk nods almost imperceptibly, and Steve leans down to kiss his neck.

"You sure?" He whispers into Punk's ear, and again Punk nods. "And if it was?" Steve turns his head to meet Ambrose's eyes. "If it was an order what would you do, _boy_?" He places undue emphasis on the word boy, and an almost childish grin spreads over Ambrose's lips.

"Well... I'd wait patiently, like a _good_ boy, then do as I was asked." He smirks, and Punk snorts, bucking his hips underneath Steve. Whilst distracted by Ambrose, Steve had stopped moving, and Punk is understandably annoyed by this.

"Good boy." Steve mutters, and starts fucking Punk once more in earnest. Punk turns back to him, wearing an incredibly smug smirk. "Not a word, brat."

"Not saying anything." Punk moans, his eyes falling closed, and Steve thrusts into him firmly. Steve takes Punk's cock in his hand, and starts jacking him quickly. He wants to get Punk off first, then fill him up with Steve's cum. Orgasm always seems to sneak up on Punk, his eyes always look slightly shocked when he trembles in orgasm. Once he's come, Steve speeds his thrusts up. He comes hard, and fast, then lies panting against Punk's ear for a moment. He pulls out, and moves from between Punk's legs to the other side of the bed, then looks over at the kid expectantly. Ambrose moves between Punk's thighs, and he reaches back, grabbing Punk's ankles. He raises them up over Punk's head, and then looks dubiously down at Punk.

"I don't think he's gonna be able to keep himself in the proper position." Steve says as he sits up slightly, and takes hold Punk's ankles, keeping them up over his head. "There you go. You makes sure to kiss him _all_ better." Steve watches Ambrose pull Punk's ass-cheeks apart, exposing his swollen, and reddened entrance. A few remnants of cum linger around the still slightly open hole. Punk makes some kind of indistinct noise, and Steve spares him a brief glance. He wants to watch Ambrose eating Punk's ass out, and he doesn't really want to be diverted from the show for any reason, but he does check to make sure Punk's alright. Punk offers him a vague smile, and Steve turns back to watching Ambrose. He tentatively licks over Punk's asshole, then looks up at Steve. They lock eyes, and Ambrose sticks his tongue out, thrusting it deliberately into Punk's ass. Punk moans, his toes curling, and Steve rubs his thumb over Punk's ankles. "Shh, Punkster. Let your boy make you feel all better." Ambrose keeps sliding his tongue in and out, lapping over the puffy ring of muscle, lapping up the cum there. Punk starts panting softly, his legs trembling, and Steve spares him a quick glance. His face is flushed, sweat beading on his skin. He looks ruined.

"I can't." He mumbles, and Ambrose chuckles from between his thighs.

"You can... Just a little more." Ambrose thrusts his tongue deeper into Punk, making Punk whimper. Steve decides then to take pity on Punk, and lets go of his legs, guiding them to rest on the bed once more. Ambrose moves up, and starts kissing Punk, his hands holding Punk's head firmly in place. "There... Taste good?" Ambrose asks, a smug edge to his voice.

"Hmm?" Punk opens his eyes lazily, a smirk settling on his lips. "That my Christmas present?" He chuckles, and Ambrose barks a sharp laugh, then flops over on to his back. "You staying the night, Steve?" Ambrose has apparently already made the decision that he is. He's busied himself with pulling the covers back on the bed from the floor, and trying to arrange them over himself and Punk, whilst leaving enough for Steve as well. Steve forces himself to his feet, and takes over on the blanket front. He spreads the covers over both of the men in the bed, then slips in beside Punk, gathering him close.

"I guess I can." Punk snuggles up against Steve's chest at those words, and Steve presses a kiss to the top of his head. "That was your Christmas present, by the way. Don't be expecting anything else." Steve warns, but Punk's already fallen asleep, and the only response from Ambrose is a half-hearted grunt.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, and Rebellecherry** **.**

 _Fifth we have **We Three Kings**_ , pairing was requested by **guana-03** on the Tumblrs **.**

 ** _It is Christmas, and I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!_**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	6. Baby, It's Cold Outside

_Warnings: Unrequited Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk) Implied Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk), Heavily AU, Mild Profanity._

* * *

"That is the tenth Demon summoning this week." Dean groans, and flops into his chair. "Holy shit, we're busy."

"It's the holidays, people are more susceptible to Demons this time of year." Seth mumbles without looking up. He's been in a mood every since he was injured on a mission a few weeks ago, being stuck in the office doesn't sit well with him.

"Can't they just be full of the holiday spirit without calling on help from Demons?" Dean grumbles, and Seth glances over his glasses at him. "What?"

"Christmas is a time of materialism, and greed. Lust Demons, Avarice Demons, Gluttony Demons... It's all in their wheelhouse." Seth snaps, and Dean rolls his eyes.

"It's nice that you're using your down time to read up on stuff." He snorts, and Seth throws a ball of paper at him. "You want a coffee?"

"Your ex called." Seth comments mildly, and Dean winces.

"He's not my ex." He starts making a pot of coffee, and tries to keep his thoughts from dwelling on his former boss. It's a sore spot, and Dean isn't about to go thinking on that chapter of his past. "What did he want?"

"Something about something, blah-blah-blah, my boyfriend is amazing, blah-blah-blah." Seth's impression is terrible, and Dean takes a deep breath, holding back the urge to defend the _ex's_ honour. "He finished with a request that you go visit him."

"He's in Chicago, he can fuck off." Dean snaps, and pours out two mugs of coffee.

"Actually, I'm here, but lets not quibble." Dean can't quite hide the wince that voice inspires in him. The mess between he and this man is vast, and unlikely to be solved. He skipped town, and is comfortably shacked up back home in Chicago, whilst Dean is _still_ pining over a man he never had in the first place.

"Yay, you're here." Dean mutters, and takes his seat. "Why _are_ you here, Punk?"

"I'll get my own coffee shall I?" He tosses a folder down on the desk opposite Dean's, and wanders over to the pot to pour himself out a mug. "It's a good question." He sits at his old desk, the one directly opposite Dean's own, and something in Dean's heart clenches. He's missed this ill-tempered idiot, and he has no right returning out of the blue, no right to break Dean's heart all over again. Dean was getting over him, slowly, but he was. It's only been a year, the wound has every reason to still be fresh.

"You're in my seat." Punk's replacement is a big man, tall, broad, and handsome. Seth is blatantly in love with him, and Dean's mostly pleased he's gained a drinking buddy. Punk looks up at Roman, and rolls his eyes.

"Sit over there, this was my seat first." Punk waves his hand at the hard wooden chair shoved against the far wall in the cramped little office. Roman grumbles, but does take the hard chair, a scowl settling on his lips when Punk leans back in the comfier chair, and sets his feet on the desk. "I was told about an interesting case here, and I thought you boys might want it."

"Interesting how, boss?" Seth sits up straighter, and Dean wonders if he's even noticed that he called Punk _boss_. Punk's decision to return to Chicago had come as a surprise, and a heavy blow, to Seth. He'd admired Punk's work as much as Dean had admired Punk's physically.

"A Demon was summoned, but it's not gone home." Punk glances over at Seth briefly, then returns his gaze back to Dean. "As we all know that once one of those fuckers are called up here, they'll head home when the job's done, but this guy's hanging around."

"Why?" Dean asks, leaning forward in his chair. It feels like old times, like from before Punk had decided to move, like when Dean could still entertain thoughts of bending his boss over a desk, and fucking him silly.

"That's the question." Punk shrugs, and sets his feet back on the ground. "No one knows, or more accurately no one's asked."

"Asked?" Roman sounds confused, and Dean's struck by just how new to the job Roman is. He's only been with them for a few months, and Punk casts a scornful look his way.

"Asked." He repeats firmly, and stands. "It's a higher class... Not one of the nice normal low level guys. Someone very powerful summoned it, and someone very powerful is keeping it here."

"Or it's decided it likes it up here." Seth pushes his glasses back up his nose, and starts leafing through one of the books on his desk. "It might be that the Demon's broken it's pact with the summoner, and is staying of it's own volition."

"Well, that's reassuring." Dean mutters. He watches Punk wander over to the map pinned on the wall.

"Ten this week." He mutters thoughtfully. "That's a lot... Seth, run a comparison to summonings this time last year, and do the same for each month since October." Seth starts typing at Punk's order. "What is it you're good at?" Punk doesn't turn around from the map, but it seems Roman knows he's being addressed.

"Ritual analysis, and in general beating the shit out of things." He answers, and Punk nods absently.

"I want you to study the photos on your desk." Punk still hasn't turned around, he seems riveted by the little push pins on the map. Each pin is colour coded for the type of Demon sent back to Hell. "I want you to find out what we're dealing with." Roman stands, and starts looking at the pictures Punk had set on the desk. Dean goes over to stand beside Punk, looking at the map as well. There's a stupid urge to wrap his arm around Punk's shoulders, and to pull him into a hug, but Dean manages to resist it. He'd never been overly affectionate, had always forced himself to maintain a distance, even when Punk had seemed interested, because Dean always told himself that work had to come first. He'd kept Punk at bay, and Punk's interest had quickly waned, Dean's hadn't.

"What should I do?" He asks, and Punk shakes his head.

"I don't know." He sighs, and Dean glances over at him. "I don't know what we're, _you're_ dealing with, and I don't want you out there without a clear picture." Punk rubs his forehead, and sighs. "Come take a walk with me?" He smiles wearily. Dean's grabbing his coat, and following Punk out of the office without even thinking about it.

They end up in the little diner nearby. It's usually pretty quiet, but with the influx of holiday shoppers, it's far busier than normal.

"How's Chicago?" Dean asks once they're seated in what had been their normal table. Punk shakes his head, and laughs.

"We're here to talk about this job, Dean." He gives his, and Dean's orders to the server, and she scurries off. "It's good though, thanks for asking." Punk rubs his eyes, and Dean holds back the desire to catch his slim fingers.

"Where's... Are you here alone?" Dean almost instantly wishes he'd not said that. Punk's expression has softened at the thought of his lover, and not for the first time Dean feels incredibly bitter towards a man he's met only once.

"Yeah, he's busy back home. We're experiencing the holiday rush too." The server arrives with their orders, cutting off whatever Punk was going to say next.

"If you're busy, why are you here?" Dean takes a bite of his sandwich, and watches Punk fuss with his own. He picks out the cucumber, and sets it on Dean's plate, then starts rearranging the rest of his salad.

"I was asked to take a look at the case I gave you guys, and well... It was too interesting to pass up. Chicago's great, but we don't have the same level of crazy... The Academy has things pretty well locked down there... Here it's a free for all." Punk laughs, and Dean nods slightly. The Academy in Chicago is slightly better at keeping it's summoning mages in line, so rogue Demon summonings are less common, but it has it's own special brand of crazy. The Chicago Academy is noted for pushing magical research, and that has a tendency to bred more rogue mages with more _interesting_ spells than normal.

"Do you miss it?" By that Dean really means do you miss me, but he's not going to admit that. A thoughtful expression crosses Punk's face, and he shakes his head.

"No. I thought I was going to, but I really don't. I've been busy... We're working on something." He finally takes a bite of his sandwich.

"Something?" Dean asks, and Punk nods, a gleeful expression on his face.

"Alchemy." He grins, and Dean rolls his eyes. Punk's never given up on the childish dream of alchemy. "Colt's a scientist, I'm a mage, and when you mix the two you get alchemy." Punk laughs, and Dean rolls his eyes. He'd forgotten how beautiful overly excited Punk can be. His eyes get bright, his smile is electric, and he becomes incredibly animated. This isn't helping Dean's efforts to get over his crush. "We're getting super close to achieving something great!" Punk's smile is heartbreakingly beautiful, and Dean once more curses his once dedication to solely learning from, and working with Punk. If he'd shown a little interest at the start they might not be having this conversation.

"Great?" Dean asks apathetically, and Punk nods. "Great how?"

"Well... A lot of it's pretty much at the speculative stage, so it's not worth talking about." Punk shrugs, and sips at his coffee. "There's a few things we've sent into the Academy, and they're pretty close to being approved for field tests, and this!" Punk pulls something out of his pocket. "This is your Christmas present." Dean extends his hand, and Punk drops a long, brass chain with a small, dull grey, stone pendant into Dean's hand. "I didn't have time to wrap it." Punk smiles, and Dean holds it up to the light. It looks utterly unremarkable, and completely uninteresting. It's not the Christmas present Dean would have asked for, or would want, but it's from Punk, so he'll treasure it.

"What is it?" He asks, slipping the chain over his head. It doesn't really feel like it's there, and as it's so uninteresting Dean doesn't feel bad when he tucks it under his shirt.

"A talisman." Punk waves his hand evasively, and Dean frowns at him.

"What is it, Punk?" Dean repeats, and Punk laughs, shaking his head.

"Just keep it on." He smiles, and Dean holds back the urge to smack him. He'd forgotten how frustrating Punk could be.

"You're not going to tell me what it does?" Dean can feel the little stone, it's temperature slightly lower than his own body heat.

"Well... I'm hoping you'll never need to know what it does. Just wear it... It'll ease my conscience." Punk meets Dean's eyes easily, and Dean has to force himself to not look away. "It'll keep you safe, and that's the most important thing." Punk smiles, and Dean ignores the warmth filling his belly. Punk isn't his, and he's no business feeling all mushy towards him. "So, this Demon."

"Tell me." Dean shakes his head, focussing on the task at hand.

"It's holed up in an abandoned house on the outskirts of town." Punk pulls a map out of his bag, and spreads it over the table. "An abandoned house, here." He taps on the map.

"That's where most of the recent summonings had been..." Dean looks up at Punk, and Punk nods tightly.

"He's calling backup?" Punk asks, and Dean shakes his head.

"Almost every summoning site I've been to since October has had nothing but a Demon corpse, and the remnants of the ritual." Punk _hmms_ thoughtfully at Dean's words, and pulls out some photos. "Those are the photos you left with Roman?"

"Yeah... They're... I've not seen a ritual like this in a _long_ time." Punk takes another drink, and Dean studies the photos. He's not an expert on ritual, but the runes aren't familiar, nor is the layout for the sacrifice. "You've never seen one like this." It's not a question, but Dean shakes his head anyway. "No... It was..." Punk rubs the spot between his eyes, and shakes his head. "Not important." He mutters, and fishes a scrap of paper out of his pocket. He sets it on the table, then leans back in his chair.

"What's that?" Dean glances from the paper to Punk.

"The address." Punk smiles slightly, and Dean snatches it. Before he can claim the paper as his own, Punk grabs his wrist. "Do not go there alone. Take Roman." Punk stares at Dean.

"You could come with me... It'd be like the old days." Dean twists his arm, and manages to loosen Punk's grip. He wraps his fingers around Punk's own squeezing them. "Don't you miss us?"

"I'm happy back home." Punk frees his fingers, and Dean nods sharply. It'd been stupid to ask, but he couldn't help it. "I don't miss it here, not really at least." Punk's smile is slightly apologetic, and Dean nods. He'd expected it, but it still isn't what he wanted to hear.

"You sticking around?" The hope in that question hurts Dean to hear, and the same apologetic smiles stays on Punk's face.

"My flight leaves in a few hour... I'm just heading back to the airport." He finishes his coffee, and Dean desperately tries to think of something to say to keep Punk around a little longer. "Merry Christmas, Dean." He stands, and pats Dean's shoulder on his way out.

Dean leaves the diner eventually. As he sees it he has two options. He can go back, and get Roman, or he can head to the address Punk had given him on his own. One option is highly sensible, and the one he should take, but the second fits Dean's mood better.

The little house is in a nice quiet suburb. The lawn is neatly trimmed, and when Dean manages to get inside, it doesn't look like it was used to summon a Demon. The walls are a pleasant cream, the carpets thick and clean. It looks like a normal family home. It smells like decay though. A thick, sweet aroma, tinged with brimstone, hangs in the air. Dean closes his eyes, and tries to decide where to start looking for the ritual site. He'd checked outside, and the house doesn't have a basement, the preferred location for Demon summoners, so he supposes it'll be one of the rooms. He hopes it's not the attic. He's none too fond of spiders. Demons of all shapes and sizes he'll face happily, but one house spider will have Dean running.

He checks each of the rooms in turn, and finally he finds the right one. The door is plain, utterly inconspicuous, but the smell is stronger, and there's a heaviness in the air around it. He pushes the door open cautiously, and jumps when it slams shut behind him. The room is dark, lit by a single flickering candle. Scrawled on the ground are several arcane symbols, and what looks like the remnants of a sacrifice.

"Been hoping that you'd drop in." A voice in the darkness calls out.

"Where are you?" Dean snaps, and a softly melodic laugh drifts over to him from the shadows.

"No. No, no, no, no... Your line is _so very nice_." The voice laughs, and the shadows seem to ripple. "Do you not know the song?" The voice asks, and Dean pulls his flash-light from his pocket, aiming it into the darkness.

"What song?" He mutters, waving the beam of light around, trying to spot whatever the voice is coming from.

"Baby it's cold outside." The voice laughs, and the shadows seem to thicken.

"Yeah, well it's winter, of course it's cold." Dean squints against the encroaching darkness, and readies his gun just in case.

"You're no fun." The voice sounds particularly dejected, and like it's behind Dean. He turns around quickly, but the beam of light reveals nothing but a plain wall. "It's Christmas, you mortals are supposed to be having fun, singing songs, making merry, but you... Well, you're working, and that's not fun is it?" The voice laughs, but the tone, and timbre change as it does. It sounds like Punk _painfully_ like Punk. "Maybe you'll be more inclined to sing with me, hmm?" Dean twists to where the sound of Punk's voice is, and the torchlight shows Punk, or at least what Dean thinks is the image is Punk, because Dean's never seen Punk naked before, he's imagined it, but never actually seen it. "There... You seems happier to see me now." The Demon laughs, and Dean raises his gun, aiming it directly at it's forehead. "Put it down."

"Put some clothes on!" It's not what Dean had meant to say, but it is what he wants more than anything else. Naked Punk, even a Demon's illusion of a naked Punk is too much for him to handle.

"You sure you want me to do that?" The Demon creeps closer, and Dean can't help but lower his weapon. "See... You don't want to shoot me." The Demon moves in closer still, it's hand reaching out, and taking the gun from Dean's limp hand. He can't help staring. Almost since the day he met Punk he wanted to see this, and now a naked Punk is directly in front of him, but it's not Punk. Punk lives in Chicago. Punk is in love with another man. Punk isn't, and was never, interested in Dean.

"Demon." Dean says softly, and Punk's face looks slightly offended. Dean looks down, and the Demon's hand, wearing Punk's image or not the touch is still very much that of a Demon, tilts Dean's face up once more.

"You can have him... I can give him to you." The Demon's wearing Punk's smile, his tiny, soft, talking about my awesome boyfriend smile.

"No." Dean mutters, and more familiar frown settles on the Demon's face. Scowls are something Punk has always been given to wearing. "Please, if you're going to wear his skin, cover it." Dean waves over the Demon's body, and the darkness ripples, engulfing the figure of Punk. Dean crumples to his knees, and the darkness seems to pulse in time with his slowly beating heart.

"You know what I am, don't you?" The Demon says softly, and Dean shakes his head. He'd never paid too much attention to the classification of Demons in the training academy. He's certain this isn't a Lust Demon, if only because the runes are wrong for summoning one of those. "Vengeance." The shadows ripple once more, and crouched low in front of Dean is the Demon's true form. It's eyes are a bright, pale blue that seem to stare through Dean. It's maw is vast, and gaping, a long, thick, tongue flicks in the air like a serpent's. "You're not as afraid as I'd thought you'd be." The Demon sounds disappointed, and Dean shrugs. He's plenty afraid. He's unarmed, he's alone, and this Demon knows all of his personal weaknesses. He's not just afraid, he's terrified. The Demon watches him calmly, behind it, in the shadows, Dean can just about make out it's tail, flicking back and forth like a cat's. "You're here to kill me?"

"Banish you." Dean says quietly. "It's my job."

"Banish, not kill?" The Demon sounds amused, and Dean shrugs. "So your gun fires what? Blanks?" It laughs, and Dean casts his gaze around, trying to spot his weapon.

"Not quite." Dean mutters, and Demon laughs.

"Spells... How cute." It's dangling Dean's gun between two claws. "I'm not sure that this would have the effect you'd be expecting." It laughs once more, and Dean holds back a sigh. He'd feel a lot better with his gun in his hand, but he thinks that he should settle for not being dead.

"Can I have that back?" He reaches out for the weapon, and the Demon's gaze snaps to him.

"You want me to give you your weapon back. A weapon you intend to shot me with, so I go back to where I came from, yes?" The Demon talks slowly, and Dean nods. "I don't think that would be very prudent of me." The shadows ripple, and Dean's gun vanishes. "So... Now what will you do?" Dean bites back a groan, and considers his meagre options. He's no mage like Punk, he's not really a fighter like Roman, he's plenty smart, but he's not as fast at thinking his way out of a problem like Seth. His skills are shooting, and his cunning. All in all, he has _very_ few options. "You came here on your own?" The Demon laughs suddenly, and Dean nods. He'd come on his own, he'd come to try to make Punk proud, but all that's going to happen is he ends up dead or worse.

"If you're going to kill me, just get on with it. I underestimated you-"

"No, you overestimated yourself. I think you're _quite_ aware of my capabilities." The Demon crosses it's legs under itself, and it's vast mouth stretches into a grin, the sharp white fangs glistening in the flash-light's beam. Dean shifts into a more comfortable position, and waits. He's no idea what the Demon's going to do, but he has no choice but to wait, and find out.

"Maybe." Dean admits reluctantly, and the Demon laughs. "So, _are_ you going to kill me?" Dean asks, and the Demon shrugs, it's grin not wavering.

"I might, I might not... It depends on what you're going to do." It shifts slightly, it's tail making a soft swishing noise on the floor.

"I'd prefer to not be dead, so if you can make a decision I'd be grateful." Dean mumbles.

"You're really no fun, are you?" The Demon sounds petulant, and Dean sighs.

"I'm sorry... You wanna play I Spy or something? That's fun." The Demon laughs at Dean's suggestion.

"It's Christmas Eve, don't you have somewhere to be?" It sounds interested, and Dean isn't really in the mood to be discussing his lack of plans with something that could decide to kill him.

"I was working, and then I was going to go home." Dean glances around the room, and wonders the reason for the Demon just toying with him.

"To an empty house?" The Demon starts examining it's claws.

"Yes." Lying to the Demon seems pointless. Dean's pretty sure it's just playing with its meal, and he's not really in the mood to indulge it.

"Doesn't that get lonely?" It turns to look at him, and Dean ducks his head. "You should find a lover... I could help you get him... There's one you want, I know it." The Demon grins, and Dean shakes his head.

"He's happy... I'm not what he wants." Dean rubs at his eyes, and looks up at the Demon. "You're not a Lust Demon, how'd you know who I want?"

"Huh? I was just whatever you wanted to see... Nothing as fancy as a Lust Demon, sorry." The Demon grins, and Dean thinks he's being bullshitted, but he can't be sure.

"Why are you here?" Dean supposes if he's going to be killed, he might as well try to get some answers out of the Demon.

"I was summoned." It shrugs, and grins, teeth once more bared.

"But why?" Dean tries again, and the Demon laughs at him. "You're going to kill me, you might as well tell me why you're here, it's not like I'm going to live long enough to tell anyone." The Demon seems unmoved by Dean's reasoning, and Dean shakes his head.

"I was summoned to wait for a sign." The Demon offers vaguely.

"Can we skip this?" Dean rubs the back of his neck, and wishes his death was a little less stupid. If he'd only gone back for Roman he'd never be in this situation. If he'd listened to Punk, he'd not be sitting in a dark room with a Demon that enjoys playing with it's food.

"Hmm? Skip what?" The Demon shifts closer to Dean, its tongue flicking out once more.

"The part where you pay with your dinner." Dean holds still, resisting the urge to wince when the Demon's tongue flicks over his cheek. It's eyes narrow suddenly, and Dean freezes. It comes closer, one claw extended. The Demon deftly slices Dean's shirt button, and fishes out the plain necklace Punk had given him.

"Where did you get this?" It hisses, it's teeth bared.

"A friend." Dean mutters, wishing once more for his gun. "A Christmas present."

"Hmm... You have generous friends." The Demon mutters, and rolls it's shoulders. "Shall we go?" It asks, and Dean stares at it blankly.

"What?" The Demon's smiling at Dean, an expression as pleasant as a creature as vicious as it can manage.

"Shall we go?" It waves it's hand at the door. "I told you I was waiting for a sign, and it's dangling around your neck, so we should go. Others are coming, others like you, but they'll be less... _Amenable_." The Demon fidgets, and Dean continues to stare blankly at it. "Seriously, we should go... He's getting close, and I'd quite like to put some distance between us this time."

"What?" Dean repeats, and the Demon growls. It grabs Dean's shoulders, hauls him to his feet, and starts shoving him forward. "Demon! What the fuck?" Dean digs his heels in, and the Demon sighs dramatically.

"I was waiting for that." The Demon points a claw at the stone around Dean's neck. "It's here, you're carrying it, so it's my job to protect you. You wanted to know why I was summoned, _that's_ why." The Demon points at the stone again. "I'm to protect the one carrying it."

"Then why weren't you protecting Punk?" Dean lifts the plain little stone up, and considers it carefully. "What is it?"

"Who's Punk?" The Demon asks ignoring Dean's question about the stone, and Dean stares at it in confusion.

"You were wearing his skin... You have to know who he is?" The Demon's eyes narrow at Dean's words. It looks like it's thinking very hard about something very unpleasant.

"Don't worry about it." The Demon shrugs, clearly deciding that this isn't an important line of conversation. It starts trying to push Dean out of the room once more.

"You can't go out there like that." Dean snaps, and the Demon growls once more. "If you go out there looking like a fucking Demon whoever it is that's looking for you is gonna have a nice easy to follow trail on Twitter."

"You make a point." The shadows thicken, and flock to the Demon. They swirl for a moment, and then from them steps a man. Dean finds himself staring at the man before him. "Close your mouth, flies'll get in." The man laughs, and Dean shuts his mouth. The mortal form the Demon chose is gorgeous. Slender, but obviously well muscled, a bright, glorious smile, and the same pale blue eyes. "Can we leave now?" Dean nods mutely, and starts walking.

"Where are... What are you going to do?" Dean asks once the Demon's followed him into his car, and is sitting the passenger seat.

"Well, I think I should probably tell you my name first." The Demon laughs, and Dean nods pulling up at a stop light. "It's Bálor... But you can call me Finn, it's less conspicuous, and as for what I'll do..." Finn grins, and Dean ignores the butterflies that start fluttering in his stomach. "Well, I'll be doing what you're doing."

"I'm gonna ki-" Dean cuts himself off from the sentence he was about to say, he doesn't want Punk dead, and he's not certain if Finn would take that as a literal suggestion of their course of action. "I'm gonna try and work out what my Christmas present was." Dean offers instead, and Finn shrugs.

"Good luck with that." He mutters, and Dean glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "Do I get a Christmas present?"

"Do Demons even have Christmas?" Dean counters, and Finn laughs at him.

"I know more about Christmas than you! You don't even know the words-"

"I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice." Dean interrupts, and the Demon laughs.

"So that's why you're called Dean, huh? You only know Martin's lines?" The Demon sounds deeply amused, and starts singing the female part of the song, clearly entertained by the distraction. Dean croons along, his mind whirring, trying to work out if the ugly stone or the off-key singing Demon was the Christmas present Punk gave him, and what exactly it's going to keep him safe from.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Rebellecherry, VKxXx92, and Kat.**

 _Sixth we have **Baby It's Cold Outside**_ , as requested by **JingleJeribrose** on the Tumblrs.

 ** _It is Christmas, and I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!_**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	7. Troika

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrolleigns), Smut, Angst._

* * *

"If I get you a birthday present, does that mean I don't have to get you a Christmas one?" Roman laughs as they enter the locker room.

"What? Fuck no! You gotta get me to presents! What kinda shitty brother are you?" Dean snaps, and Roman laughs at him once more.

"At least he ain't the kind of brother that smacks you with chairs." One of Roman's cousins, and Dean turns to him with a scowl. "What? Too soon?"

"Too soon, Uce." The other cousin confirms, and Roman nods sagely, his good mood blown away by the harsh reminder of Seth.

"It's been like a year now... He's pretty well moved on." Jimmy mutters, and starts changing. Jey glances over at his brother, then elbows him in the ribs. "Alright, I get it..." The two brothers change into their gear quickly, and Roman takes a deep breath, then sinks on to one of the benches. Dean starts pacing the room, as is his habit when thoughts of their former team mate come to him.

"You remember the first birthday we all had together?" Dean says suddenly, and Roman nods absently. "We got that massive fucking cake, and Seth was bitching about how hard he'd have to work out to get rid of the calories."

"Then you rubbed some in his face, and the entire cake ended up all over us. I don't think we ate a single bite." Roman chuckles, and Dean starts pacing again. "Did you actually get to eat any of your birthday cake that year?"

"No... Nope, none at all." Dean mumbles, his fingers twitching as he paces. "It was a good night... Good times." He pauses at one wall, takes a deep breath, and punches it hard. " _Traitor_." He hisses, and Roman shakes his head, focussing on getting ready for his match later that night.

Dean has never really gotten over Seth's betrayal, not that Roman has, but Dean has the tendency to lose sight of more pressing matters in favour of brooding over Seth's betrayal. Roman can compartmentalise, and in this business that's a blessing. Dean's all or nothing approach is at once admirable, and infuriating. He always throws himself into things in his entirety. There's no holding back with him, there is always another gear to take it up to, but it's also always full throttle. Roman isn't sure how he manages that, but much of Dean Ambrose is contradiction, and bewilderment. Dean's distraction carries over into their match. They lose, but thankfully it's un-televised, and won't count against them in the long run. Dean was pinned, and he seems incredibly irritated by it. He storms backstage, and is gone before Roman even gets out of the shower.

He takes his time getting back to the motel. There's no real rush. Dean'll be in the room, probably drinking, and sulking that they can't make a night of it, because Raw is tomorrow night. Roman supposes he'll be able to give Dean something more enjoyable than a hangover to celebrate his birthday, so long as Dean isn't too riled up. It's an unfortunate side-effect of being Dean's fuck buddy. Dean Ambrose is not good at concentrating, he gets distracted, he gets fixated, and more times than Roman's ego cares to remember Dean's gotten bored during sex, and either fallen asleep or wandered off. It'd be embarrassing if it wasn't for the fact that even two people couldn't guarantee Dean's complete attention.

"You in here?" Roman calls when he gets to the motel. He can hear the bathroom fan running, and he's not entirely sure if that means Dean's having a shower or a fly cigarette, it might be both knowing Dean. Roman wouldn't put it past Dean to be in the shower with an ashtray, and a bottle of bourbon.

"Just finished." Dean steps out of the bathroom, looking squeaky clean, and surprisingly sober. "We gonna..." He trails off, and Roman nods.

"Well, we can't get wrecked before Raw." He mutters, and tosses his bag on the bed. "Lemme shower, then we can..." It's strange how they never verbalise what it is they do with each other, but he supposes it's one of those things.

"You remember his birthday?" Dean asks after Roman's been in the shower for maybe five minutes. "His first birthday with us... You remember it?" Roman takes a deep breath, and tries to forget that night. It was the first time all three of them had slept together, the first night he'd watched Seth and Dean fuck, the first time he'd fucked Seth's ass whilst Dean had fucked his mouth. It was a night of many firsts, and Roman's devastated that there had to be last for those things, but there was. Seth decided that on the night of the breaking. He can never quite bring himself to give it a title more full than that. The night Seth betrayed them was the breaking. It broke The Shield, it broke Seth, it broke Dean, and Roman knows, as much as he'd like to deny it, it broke him. The breaking was cataclysmic, and nothing in his life has come close to the pain that the phantom wound of Seth not being there causes.

"I remember." Roman mutters, and he starts rinsing the shampoo from his hair. "Why you bringing that up now?" He asks, and Dean laughs.

"Doesn't much matter." Dean sounds morose, and like he's moved away from the bathroom door. Roman showers quickly, trying to keep his mind off the night Dean had brought up. He pulls on some sweat pants, and shuffles out of the bathroom, just as there's a knock on the room door.

"Before you start, I'm injured, and I come in peace." The voice at the door has Roman over, and standing behind Dean quickly, feeling the adrenaline of a fight filling him.

" _Seth_." Dean hisses, his shoulders tensed, his fingers twitching. "What'd you want, _Seth_?" Dean seems incapable of not hissing Seth's name, and Roman isn't sure what to do or say. There've been occasions when both Seth and Dean have been around each other since the breaking, but it's always been in a nicely controlled environment. The two of them in a motel hallway could get ugly quickly.

"Lemme in." Seth snaps, and without thinking Dean takes a step back, and lets Seth hobble into the room. "There's a couple of boxes in the corridor, grab them." Seth calls to Roman, and it seems easier to do as he's asked. He grabs the boxes, one obviously a cake box, and the other a large, plain, and brown. When Roman re-enters the room, Seth has taken a seat on the bed, his injured knee propped up on a pillow, and Dean is sitting by the window, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. "Happy Birthday." Seth says to him, and Dean snorts absently.

"That why you're here, traitor?" Seth looks mildly affronted by Dean's comment, and casts a quick glance over to Roman. "Well, thank you for the birthday wishes, now kindly fuck off." Dean snaps, and Seth sighs, waving Roman over to him.

"That's a cake." He gestures to the cake box, and Roman carries it over to Dean, setting it on the table beside him. "Give the other one here." Seth demands, and Roman takes a deep breath before carrying the box over to him. "Sit, you look like you think I'm gonna eat you." Seth mutters, his eyes flicking between Roman and Dean. Roman perches on the end of the bed, strategically positioned between Seth, and Dean.

"So..." Roman starts, but isn't sure how to finish. There's a palpable tension in the room. Dean's twitching in his seat, clearly considering lunging past Roman, and beating the shit out of Seth. Seth is just sitting there, watching waiting to see what'll happen.

"So." Seth mutters, and he sighs slightly, then pulls the box closer to him. He opens it with a little struggling, and starts rooting around in it. "Here." He holds out a wrapped package towards Dean. "Come and take it, I need to rest my knee."

"I don't want anything from you." Dean snarls. He eyes the cake box at his elbow, and for a moment Roman's convinced Dean's going to throw it at Seth, but thankfully he opens it. "I will eat this, because it's my birthday, and I'm hungry, but I will hate you with every bite, _traitor_." He snarls, and uses the free plastic knife in the box to start cutting the cake up.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, man." Seth mutters. He takes his glasses from his face, and rubs at his eyes.

"Why are you here, Seth? You should be resting." Roman's watching Dean, even though he's talking to Seth. Dean's movements are jerky, like he's drunk _far_ too much, and isn't quite in control of himself.

"I..." Seth sighs once more, and tosses Dean's present at him. Dean catches it automatically, and looks torn between hurling it back, and opening it. "Just open it." Seth mutters, and Dean relents. He tears the paper off, and starts laughing.

"You piece of shit." He chuckles, and Roman turns to look at the blush spreading over Seth's cheeks.

"What is it?" Roman asks, and Dean shakes his head.

"Empty." Dean holds up the empty gift box, and Roman turns quickly back to Seth.

"What the fuck?" Roman stands, and goes over beside Dean, sparing a quick glance at the cake in the box. It looks good, and like it'd be expensive to get out of bedsheets if this descends into a food-fight.

"It's a symbolic present." Seth says calmly. He tilts his head as he looks at them both over the rim of his glasses. "I made us."

"You broke us." Dean cuts in sharply, and Seth nods. "You betrayed us, and now your here with your empty boxes, and shitty cake... The thing this fucking box is symbolic of is how fucking empty your words are." Dean grabs a slice of the cake, and starts chomping down on it. "I take that back, this isn't shitty cake." He mumbles around a mouthful of food.

"I knew you'd like it." Seth smiles awkwardly, and flops his head back against the pillows. "You're never going to listen to me when it comes to that night, are you?" He asks mournfully, and Dean shakes his head, starting on his second slice of cake.

"You wanna bit?" He asks Roman, frosting all around his mouth, and his cheek slightly bulged.

"Sure... Seth?" Roman can't help but asking, ignoring the indignant look in Dean's eyes.

"Yeah, just a little." Seth sits up a little straighter. "There's no point explaining what happened to you, is there?" Seth tries again, and Dean snatches the slice of cake intended for Seth. He carries it over, and Roman is anticipating it being rammed into Seth's face, but all Dean does is hand it to him.

"Nothing you say will make me forgive you." He snarls, and Seth nods.

"I know... I'm not looking for forgiveness... I just wanted to give you something." Seth grasps Dean's wrist, and Roman tenses. He's sure Dean's going to explode in a fury, but instead he seems to crumble. He takes the slice of cake with his free hand and sets it on the night-stand

"What?" Dean says softy, and Seth looks up at him.

"Forgiveness." Dean tenses up, and Seth tugs on his wrist, pulling him awkwardly onto the bed. Dean tries to pull away, but Seth wraps his arms around him tightly. "Hold still, and let me explain myself." Seth grinds out, and Dean stills. "I'm giving you pre-emptive forgiveness, idiot." Seth laughs, and Roman's convinced that this is when Dean's fist will connect with Seth's jaw, but instead it seems Dean's too shocked by what's going on to react properly. "In the future we'll need each other, and I know that you'll wanna fuck me over, just like you think I did to you, so I forgive you." Seth smiles beatifically, and Roman decides that he should probably get closer in case Dean really does decide to punch him.

"You're a piece of shit." Is all Dean says, and he turns to press his face against Seth's shirt. Seth's hand starts carding through Dean's hair, a slow, steady caress that eases all of the tension out of Dean's shoulders. Roman perches on the end of the bed, and meets Seth's eyes. There's a moment, a brief second when the Seth of old is there, when it's his little brother, a man he knows inside out, sitting cradling Dean, but the moment passes. Roman doesn't know the man. He thought once he did, but he doesn't know Seth at all.

"There's more in the box." Seth says eventually. Dean doesn't move, and Roman thinks that Dean doesn't want to let what ever fantasy he's conjured up to pass. He seems content to lie in Seth's arms. "Christmas presents." Seth clarifies, and Roman nods, then moves the box off the bed.

"There's one other thing you can do." Roman says, his voice a low rumble, and Seth nods absently.

"I know... One of the reasons I'm here." He smiles, and urges Dean to move. "C'mon... We're all a little overdressed for this." Dean pulls away, and quickly sheds the pants he was wearing, leaving him entirely naked. Seth struggles with his shirt, thanking Dean quietly when he helps remove it for him. His pants, and underwear prove to be a little more problematic, and it takes all three of them moving carefully to get them off without causing him too much pain. Dean grabs the lube from the night-stand, and starts prepping Seth's ass before Roman's even had a chance to shed his sweats. He tosses the lube to Roman, and makes a jerking off motion with his hand. Seth's eyes are closed, a content look on his face as Dean plays with his asshole. Roman starts jacking his cock, making himself hard, and then he taps Dean's shoulder with the lube bottle. Dean pulls his fingers from Seth's ass.

"Finish up here." Dean starts stroking his own cock, his eyes downcast, and focussed on the task at hand. Roman does as Dean asks him, and starts stretching Seth open. He tries to focus on anything but how familiar this feels, how Seth's breathy little moans are exactly how he remembers them. It's not a situation Roman had ever expected to be in again, and he's surprised by it more than anything. It doesn't take Roman long to decide that Seth's ready, and he pulls his fingers from him.

"I think he's good to go." Roman tells Dean, and Dean nods, a sly smirk coming over his face.

"I can't move around too much." Seth mutters, and Dean shakes his head.

"You don't need to, you're in pretty good position as it is." Dean straddles Seth's chest, and Roman's view is blocked by Dean's ass. "You fuck him good and hard." Dean says, turning his head back to Roman.

"Can do." Roman lines his cock up with Seth's stretched hole, and slams inside of him. Seth gives a choked moan, and Roman pauses, letting him get used to the intrusion.

"You ready?" Dean says softly, and he moves forward, clearly sliding his cock into Seth's mouth. His hips start moving slowly back and forth, and Roman starts following Dean's movements. It's slow, almost gentle, and Roman wonders if this is what Seth had anticipated when he'd first come there. Seth expecting this makes sense. If he'd not anticipated it, it would be more of a surprise than anything else. His hands are on Dean's hips, pulling him forward more, his fingers leaving dimples on Dean's flesh. They move in time with each other, it's strange how easily the old patterns of before come back to them, and Roman's quietly surprised. He'd thought after the breaking everything would be shattered and jagged between them, but it seems that's not the case. It seems the patterns of old are still there, still waiting for them to fall back into them. It's rare for Dean to be so quiet, but the entire time he's almost completely mute, only occasional grunts escape him. Seth's normally equally vocal, but with a cock in his mouth his quietness is more understandable than Dean's. Dean comes first, his body going rigid, his head thrown back against Roman's shoulder. Once he's come, he moves out of the way, and Roman starts fucking Seth harder, he comes with a sharp bellow, and pulls out of Seth, leaving his hard cock standing up from his groin untouched.

"I ain't touching you." Dean snaps at him, and Seth laughs.

"I wasn't expecting you to." He smiles awkwardly. "I'm surprised you didn't punch me."

"I still might." Dean mutters, and closes his eyes. "I'm sleeping. You better be gone before I wake up." Dean slips under the covers, his back determinedly turned.

"I only wanted to say happy birthday." Seth says softly. "I only wanted to make it a happy one... I..." He sighs, and starts trying to reach for his clothes. Roman gathers them for him, and hands them over. "I'm not going to apologise."

"I wouldn't accept it even if you did." Dean mutters, and Seth nods, as he tries to put his pants back on. It takes him a lot of struggling, but he manages it somehow. He forces himself to his feet, and hobbles awkwardly around the bed.

"I meant what I said Dean. One day we'll need each other, and on that day I'll forgive you... I hope you can do the same." Seth smiles, and heads for the door.

"Wait!" Dean suddenly surges out of bed, and scampers over to the door. He grabs Seth tightly, and kisses him firmly. When he breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against Seth's. "Not today, but one day this'll be okay... I don't forgive people, but one day I'll forgive you." His voice is soft, but it carries over to Roman as he sits on the bed.

"Thank you." Seth's tone is almost reverential. "Your real present's in the red box." He laughs, and leaves the room. Roman leans over the bed, and fishes the red box out from the large brown one. He tosses it to Dean, who once more catches it easily.

"What you think it is? Roman asks, making a space beside himself in the bed for Dean.

"Who knows... I should open it and find out." He grins, and tears the paper off the parcel, then laughs. Inside the package was a beanie, a little cartoon three-headed dog stitched into it.

"Hmm... Thoughtful." Roman smiles, and Dean nods, fishing out the little card that had been in the parcel too.

"Happy birthday, from your little brother." Dean reads the card, and then flops down face first in bed. He doesn't move when Roman gets up to shut out the lights, and pull the blankets up. He only moves once Roman's settled in bed once more, but then it's only to curl around Roman's arm. Dean falls asleep, but Roman lies awake with the sharp edges of the little card digging into his arm, and the question of what Seth bought them for Christmas playing on his mind.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, Brokenspell77, Rebellecherry and Kat** **.**

 _Seventh we have **Troika from Lieutenant Kije**_ , no request today,just me wanting to write a little birthday fic for Deano.

 ** _As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!_**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	8. Christmas Time (Don't Let the Bells End)

_Warnings: Slash (Wade Barrett/Sheamus), Smut nothing but Smut._

* * *

The Authority Christmas party was in full swing. Somewhere Triple H and Stephanie were schmoozing with bigwigs, and even from a distance, Sheamus can hear the grating tones of the injured former champion. He sounds pissy, but then again Seth _always_ sounds like someone's pissed in his cheerios .

"What's got his knickers in a twist now?" The voice of the former many things, but now Sheamus supposes lackey, Wade 'Bad News' Barrett is entirely too close.

"Who knows." Sheamus shrugs. He's always thought it prudent to stay out of The Shield's business. Even if the little group is broken up, Seth still watches over Ambrose and Reigns the way a mother duck watches over her chicks. Old habits die hard, and The Shield is a habit none of it's three former members has fully broken.

"Who invited him?" Wade gestures over at the drinks' table, where the rotund figure of Paul Heyman is standing casually sipping at a flute, fixated by his phone.

"Again, who knows." Sheamus scans the crowd looking for Heyman's Beast. Where the Walrus goes, the Beast Incarnate is sure to follow. Further inspection of the room shows Brock over by Seth, his head bent as he talks to the former Champ. Whatever Brock's saying to Seth seems to be quietening him down. It's a point of mild interest, but nothing Sheamus is overly interested in.

"You're a right mardy bint this evening aren't you?" Wade laughs, and Sheamus shrugs at him, more interested in scanning the room, trying to work out the factions, and division in it. "I might just leave you to it, and see what's going on elsewhere." Wade nudges Sheamus' shoulder with his own, clearly trying to get some attention from the Irish man.

"Whatever." Sheamus mutters, his attention caught by the little gaggle of NXT wrestlers. It's an odd mix, with Kevin and Neville in the middle of it. On the edge of it is his fellow Irish man, Finn. He seems pretty focussed on trying to make Hideo choke on his champagne, talking animatedly whilst Hideo look like he's trying to keep from bursting out laughing. It takes Finn a few more minutes to crack Hideo, and then the rest of the group is told the joke, causing all of them to start laughing. Of all the clusters at the party, it seems like the former, and current NXT superstars one with the most entertained. Sheamus spots Triple H looking over at them, a fond expression on his face. He mutters something to Stephanie, and wanders over to them, where he's greeted like a beloved father. Stephanie starts talking to the nearest group to her, and Sheamus once more returns to surveying the party. He spots Wade over by someone other people, and he feels a shade guilty he'd not even noticed the English man leaving his side.

He ends up in conversation with Road Dogg, talking about something utterly trivial, but entertaining, and creeping closer, and closer to the lavish food table. The NXT gaggle have migrated there, Triple H still in the middle of them, all talking at once, very much like children vying for their father's attention. It seems like Finn is the current favourite, but there's definitely attention being paid to both Sami, and Hideo. In the last ten minutes Sheamus has heard Trips make several inquiries about how their rehab is going, and when they think they'll be ready for returns. Finn seems very keen to stress that he wants to work with Hideo, and it seems like Trips is listening to his kids. It's sweet, but Sheamus knows that once they're out from under Triple H's wing up on the main roster things will change for them. He meets Kevin's eyes, and the Canadian smirks suddenly.

"Gentlemen." His voice surprisingly soft for all it's loudness. "It seems the Champ is here." He chuckles, and waves Sheamus over. Triple H's arm wraps around Sheamus' shoulders, pulling him amongst the NXT superstars.

"Sheamus! Glad you could make it." Trips smiles warmly, but Sheamus has little doubt he's annoyed at having his audience with his children interrupted. "We were just talking about the future of the business." He waves his hand around the little group of men around him, and Sheamus wonders which one Triple H intends to get the belt on first. His money is on Finn getting it eventually, with maybe a detour to Kevin, but that's not a smart bet. The Intercontinental Champion is wily, and cunning. He might seems like nothing more than a vicious, teddy-bear, but he's manipulative, and not bogged down by morals. Though he must be fairly easy to forgive, because despite the horrors he's put Sami through, his fellow Canadian is standing beside him at the moment, and there seems to be an easy truce.

"Well, this is the future of the business, isn't it?" Sheamus smiles awkwardly, and wonders how long he'll have to stand here, before he can escape politely.

"Hmm." Hideo regards him coolly, and Sheamus forces a bright smile to his lips. He knows the smaller man's past, and in all honesty he's very glad that he's injured, and still down in NXT. There are stories of the kicks of Kenta Kobayashi that Sheamus doesn't want confirming as true or not.

"You reckon you could take him, huh?" Triple H grins over at Hideo, who merely smiles slightly.

"Were I to battle the Irish, I would start closer to home." Hideo turns from Sheamus, and grins at Triple H. "The challenge would be greater." He finishes, and Finn barks a laugh.

"Ha, be fair, he's the Champion." Finn _carefully_ nudges Hideo, mindful of his still injured shoulder.

"Hmm... Not the Champion I have to beat though." He clarifies with a smirk, and Finn laughs once more.

"When you're good to go, I will be too." He laughs.

"I'm sure the time will come when you're all vying for a different prize." There's a odd light in Triple H's eyes, as though he's picture his children all fighting for what is currently Sheamus' Championship title.

"Some of us sooner than others." Kevin meets Sheamus' eyes easily, a lazy smirk on his lips. "White's not really my colour. Black is much better, and both my girls love diamonds."

"Have you tried the quiche? It's très bien." Wade masaccares the the French, pronouncing it more like trays bin, rather than the correct très bien.

"Vraiment, vous parlez français?" Kevin smirks, and Wade snorts at him.

"We gotta learn it in High School, core curriculum. I can call you big chicken, and that's about it." Wade takes a bite of the mini quiche he's hold, and Kevin's smirk deepens.

"Go on, and this party will take a different direction for you." He might be smiling, but clearly violent thoughts are flickering through his head. Triple H apparently sensing some discontent with his children, smiles politely at Sheamus, then pointedly turns his back to both Sheamus and Wade.

"You looked like you needed a way out." Wade says by way of explanation for his interruption. "Those lot are like a school of piranhas."

"I'm pretty sure I'm safe enough at a party." Sheamus laughs, and snags one of the mini quiche from the buffet table.

"I dunno, they're pretty happy to put differences aside to attack for a common goal..." Wade takes another quiche, and starts nibble on the pastry shell. His attention is on the little group gathered around Triple H. "Weird little fuckers." He mutters, still seemingly intent on his quiche. "Don't trust any of them."

"Well, in this business you shouldn't trust anyone... Even the tightest bonds get broken." Sheamus hunts out the former Champion once more, finding him still engrossed in conversation with Brock, and remembers the night The Shield was shattered.

"I guess not." Wade shrugs, and tosses the now shell-less quiche filling into his mouth. "You can trust me though." He grins, and Sheamus snorts at him.

"Well... _Here_ you are." Stephanie's voice is the audible equivalent of ice wrapped in a silk scarf, smooth and cool. She holds out a flute of champagne to Sheamus, and smiles sweetly at him. "How is my little Champ?" She grins, and Sheamus glances over at Wade, hoping for more assistance in getting out of an uncomfortable situation, but Wade's distracted. He's found the dessert section of the buffet, and seems to be trying to inhale macrons.

"I'm good." Sheamus offers her, and Stephanie looks at him appraisingly, as though she's trying to divine the truth of that statement. "How are you?" He asks quickly. There's something incredibly discomforting about being the attention of her gaze. She always makes him think of a snake, watching, waiting for her moment to strike, but his question seems to catch her off guard.

"Me?" She laughs, and waves the champagne flute she's still holding out to him. Sheamus takes it from her, and has a sip of it. "I'm fine... A little bored." She admits with another laugh. "These corporate parties are the worst." She smiles, and Sheamus carefully nods. He's not sure what she's getting at, it might be she's looking for solidarity and sympathy, but it might be that she's looking for a weakness. "But we have to show face... It's good for morale." She glances over at her husband, still surrounded by his _children_. "My husband could do with some reminding of that though." She chuckles, and Sheamus nods absently, catching sight of Wade out of the corner of his eye. It seems Wade has tired of macrons, and has moved on to chocolate éclairs. He's currently licking along the stripe of chocolate on one, his eyes half closed in pleasure. He then takes the end of it into his mouth, his lips closing around it almost obscenely. Sheamus quickly looks at at Stephanie.

"Yeah... Morale is important." Sheamus takes another sip of champagne. Wade makes a little noise of pleasure, and Sheamus resolutely doesn't look at him. He pointedly takes another drink, chancing a glance just as Wade withdraws the éclair slowly from his mouth, then takes a bite of it. Sheamus can't help but choke on his drink, and Stephanie looks at him with concern.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She rest her hand against Sheamus' forehead. "You're not coming down with something are you? You're terribly red... We don't want the Champ sick." She casts her gaze about the room, and then settles on Wade. "Barrett!" She snaps, and Wade swallows the last of the éclair quickly.

"Yes?" He asks coming over to stand by her. "What can I do for you?" His tone is polite to the point of almost being sarcastic, and Sheamus wonders if Americans are immune to sarcasm if it's coming from Englishmen. Wade seems to get away with being more sarcastic, more often than most people.

"Take Sheamus up to his room... I think he's getting sick, or all this alcohol is getting to him." She smiles as sweetly as she can at Wade, and Sheamus polishes off the champagne behind her back.

"I doubt it's the alcohol... He's Irish, and some stereotypes are true enough. Must be something else that's got him all hot and bothered." Wade grins, and Stephanie waves him away.

"Yeah, sure... Just get him to his room." She mutters absently, and wanders off in the direction of where her husband is still holding court with his children.

"Well... You heard the lady." Wade grins, and Sheamus rolls his eyes, grabbing one of the empty plates on the buffet table. He starts loading it up, and once he's satisfied it's got the best of everything on it, he follows Wade out of the room.

"You're an arse, you know that?" Sheamus snaps once they're in the lift. "A bloody, fucking arse."

"Did you get me more of them éclairs?" Wade ignores Sheamus' insults, and glances at the plate in his hands.

"Fuck you, and fuck your fucking éclairs!" Sheamus' outburst is ignored once Wade spots the éclairs on the plate, and once more he starts fellating it. "Arse." Sheamus mutters, and Wade starts chewing.

"Beginning to sound a bit like Father Jack there." He grins, and Sheamus rolls his eyes. "C'mon, cheer up... I got you outta that stuffy party, and soon I'll get you into something much more fun." He leers, and Sheamus scowls at him.

"I'm supposed to be there... I'm the Champion, I've a reputation to uphold." Wade laughs at his words, and Sheamus seriously considers locking him out of the room.

"It was boring as hell, and you showed face... You spoke to the most important people there, and that's all that matters." Wade steps out of the lift, and takes the plate of food from Sheamus. "Open the door, will you?" Sheamus nods absently, and opens up the door to their shared room. Wade sets the plate down on the dresser, and then rounds on him. Wade backs him against the wall, and kisses Sheamus fiercely, his hands tug at Sheamus' hair, his tongue battling for dominance. Sheamus would like to claim he's giving as good as he gets, but that'd be a lie. The champagne has gone straight to his head, and he feels slightly giddy, not even really registering when Wade sinks to his knees, and starts untying Sheamus' flies.

"I thought you'd have filled up on pudding." Sheamus smirks once Wade's managed to wrestle his cock out. Wade rolls his eyes, and takes a lick of Sheamus' head.

"I've room for a little 'un." He laughs, and sucks on Sheamus' foreskin.

"Little 'un... I'll give you a little 'un." Sheamus snorts, and Wade starts suckling on the head of his cock, his hand moving along the shaft. "That's it." Sheamus threads his fingers through Wade's hair, guiding his head back and forth, thrusting into his willing mouth. The tight, warm wetness squeezes around his cock, and Wade hollows his cheeks sucking firmly. "Hey! Why'd you stop?" Sheamus snaps when Wade pulls back.

"I've other plans." The Englishman grins up at him, and stands. He starts pulling off his clothes, and Sheamus decides he should follow suit, pulling his dress clothes off, and tossing them on the floor, unmindful of potential creases. Once they're both naked, Sheamus takes control of the situation, and starts backing Wade towards the bed, laughing when his knees hit the back of it, and he crumples onto it.

"Your plans can wait, fella." Sheamus smirks, and he leans down to claim a kiss. Their tongues twisting, and twining, lapping over each other's mouths. Wade moves backwards slowly, letting Sheamus straddle his prone body, playing at submissive for the time being. Sheamus is expecting him to wrest control back at any moment, so whilst he has the upper hand, he revels in it. His hands glide down the firm planes of Wade's tight body, squeezing, and stroking the muscles of his chest, then down to his taut stomach, and down lower to cup his impressive cock. Wade bucks his hips into Sheamus' hand, breaking the kiss to let out a low moan. He twists them over, so he's on top. He smirks down at Sheamus, stroking his cock once, and then Wade takes his own dick in his hand, jacking it slowly, his eyes focussed on Sheamus' face.

"Like I said, I've other plans for this evening, Champ." He winks, and Sheamus rolls his eyes. Wade gets off the bed, and wanders over to his luggage, his thick, hard cock bobbing as he walks. He bends at the waist, giving a Sheamus a fine view of his ass as he retrieves the lube from his bag.

"How we doing this?" Sheamus asks from his spot prone on the bed. Wade looks at him thoughtfully, and shrugs.

"I've a plan." He smirks. "On your feet." Wade extends his hand, and hauls Sheamus up to his feet. "Here, lube up." Wade grins, and starts coating his cock in lube, then hands the bottle over to Sheamus. "How stretchy are you?"

"What?" Sheamus looks up from his cock. Wade grins at him, and backs heamus up against the wall. Wade reaches out, and takes a hold of Sheamus' cock. He rolls the foreskin back, and grins, then he releases it, and guides Sheamus' hand to his dick.

"Hold it back a minute." Wade rolls his own foreskin back, and touches his cock-head to Sheamus'. He rolls his foreskin down, then stretches it to engulf Sheamus' cock. "I'm gonna need you to help me with this." He mutters, and Sheamus wraps his hand around their strangely linked cocks. Sheamus rocks his hips forward slightly, and Wade grins at him. "You like it, huh?" Sheamus doesn't answer, instead he tightens his grip, and focuses on the odd feeling of Wade's cock head jutting against his, and the tightness of the foreskin wrapped around them. It's like nothing he's ever felt before, but that's no bad thing. For all it's oddness, the feeling of their two cocks pressed together in such unexpected circumstances is incredible. Wade's hand wraps around their cocks along with Sheamus', and he starts stroking them slowly. "So..." Wade leans forward, and starts nipping along Sheamus' collar-bone, his mouth leaving wet kisses along the pale flesh there. Sheamus wraps his free arm around Wade's broad shoulders, pulling him closer, moaning when the action causes their cocks to rub together more firmly.

"Fuck..." Sheamus breathes, his nails digging into Wade's shoulder. He rocks his hips once more, and this time Wade is the one moaning, his breath damp and warm against Sheamus' skin. Sheamus starts moving his hand in time with Wade, causing constant rubbing stimulation to both of them. Wade's stretched foreskin rubs over Sheamus' sensitive cock-head gently, so like, yet so different to the feeling of his own. The movement causes their cocks to rub against each other, the heads sliding along each other thanks to the lube, offering unexpected, but tantalising pleasure. Wade stills his hand, holding his cock firmly, and Sheamus takes that as a cue. He wraps his fingers around Wade's stretched foreskin, and holds it in place, thrusting against Wade's cock-head. His breathing speeds up, his head falling back against the wall, as his hips move in tandem with his hand.

"You enjoying it?" Wade's voice is little more than a whisper in Sheamus' ear. "Looks fucking hot... Your big fat cock gobbled up by mine... Fuck it, fuck my fat dick." He starts nibbling on Sheamus' ear, and he follows Wade's instruction, fucking the stretched foreskin, rubbing their cocks together more firmly. Wade's hand not hold his cock, starts rolling Sheamus' balls, squeezing them lightly, tugging on them, massaging them, trying to bring Sheamus' climax closer. It works depressingly well, Wade knows him far better than anyone else, knows how to get Sheamus over the edge quickly. "Come right where you are... I wanna feel your load inside." Wade grunts, and Sheamus manages a slight nod before he comes. He can feel the tightly stretched skin fill with his cum, can feel it slopping around the heads of their cocks. He pulls away, and spins them around, forcing Wade's back up against the wall. He drops to his knees, and starts lapping his cum from Wade's cock, his tongue probing under the foreskin, chasing every drop of cum he's spilled. Once Sheamus is satisfied he's got every drop, he starts sucking Wade's cock, groaning when Wade takes a hold of his head, and starts fucking him. Wade's cock probes the back of his throat, teasing his gag reflex, making him sputter around it's girth. "That's it." Wade grunts, and his hands tighten in Sheamus' hair, holding him in place as Wade comes down his throat.

"Fuck." Sheamus gasps, as he rests back on his heels, gazing up at Wade's heaving stomach muscles. Wade nods, a sated grin on his face.

"See, aren't you glad you got outta that party now?" He chuckles, and offers a hand to Sheamus. He laughs as Wade pulls him to his feet, and into a tight embrace. The kiss they share is far more sensual, far more gentle than any they've had so far that evening.

"I guess, but if I catch heat for bailing early, I'm blaming you." He mutters, placing a soft kiss to Wade's still smirking lips.

"Fuck it, you're the Champ, what they gonna do? You're good enough to keep the belt, and if anyone tries to fuck with you, I've got your back." Wade's smirk fades to a fond smile, his attention flicking to the plate of food forgotten on the dresser. "Wanna have a picnic?" He turns a boyish grin to Sheamus.

"I'll see what's on the telly." Sheamus lets him go, and switches on the set. They settle on the bed, the stolen buffet plate in front of them, some random Christmas comedy special from the BBC playing on the TV.

"Here." Wade says suddenly, holding out an éclair. "You never did try these, they're good." Sheamus takes it from him, and bites it in half, then hands the other half to Wade.

"Only got one, and you seem to enjoy them so much." He laughs, Wade pops the bitten dessert into his mouth, and grins once more.

"It's like I said, I had a plan."

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **ajlette, Rebellecherry, and Kat**

 _Seventh we have **Christmas Time (Don't Let The Bells End)**_ , _a wee gift for Moiself._

 ** _As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!_**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	9. A Winter's Tale

_Warnings: Slash (Chris Jericho/Dean Ambrose), Smut, AU, Drug Use, Prostitution._

* * *

 _It must be the laudanum._ It's the only explanation for the strange mood Chris finds himself in. He's in a curiously good mood. His disposition towards everyone is far softer, and kinder than normal. The city is no different to usual, save the snow on the ground, and the slightly fuzzy edge to everything. Though the second is most likely the laudanum. He's not really one for indulgence, but he'd been in the company of old friends, and when they're all together the bad habits of their youth are hard to resist.

He's been in this city by the coast for some time now, and he's never quite gotten used to the smell of the port, or to the noise of seagulls. The screech over head is riotous, but with the laudanum in his system, he can hear music in their calls, music that combines with the church choir out singing in the square, solemnly festive hymns echoing up to the Heavens, the scent of roasting something almost drowns out the scent of fish guts, and horse dung. It is far nicer than normal, and he can't help but enjoying it.

He ends up wandering for hours, dusk falling just as Chris hits the more unsavoury parts of town. The lamplighters are sluggish in their work, one casually leaning against and unlit lamp smoking.

"You looking for a boy or a girl?" He laughs, and Chris scowls at him. "Hey! I'm not judging, just offering some advice..." He smirks, and Chris considers his options.

"Boy." He says eventually, and the lamplighter nods thoughtfully, taking a long drag.

"There's a good little cocksucker down the alley to the left. He could suck the eggs outta chicken's ass with that mouth of his." The lamplighter laughs once more, and finally lights the lamp he's standing under. "To the left, bout twenty, maybe thirty yards back, you can't miss him." He ambles off, and Chris wonders briefly if he's just been set up for a mugging. The laudanum however isn't afraid, and he walks down the alleyway, finally coming to what looks like the dirty face of a street-child.

"For a penny, I'll do anything." The urchin smiles, and Chris revises his position on the age of the boy. The chubby cheeks, and dirt had been misleading. The figure that stands is tall, slender, and clearly not a boy.

"Shouldn't you be working, or at home?" The man is dressed in what was once probably a nice uniform.

"I am working." He smirks, and flicks his hair from his eyes. "Like I said, for a penny..."

"That's terribly low..." Chris muses, and the man laughs.

"I'm not exactly what most folk are into." He winks, and holds up his left sleeve. The fabric flaps down unoccupied. "Lost it fighting the English." He smiles awkwardly. "Damaged goods have to work harder for their bread."

"Come with me." Chris grabs the empty sleeve, and pulls the man along with him. The people on the street stare at him oddly, but Chris keeps his eyes focussed on the road ahead, tugging lightly on the empty sleeve.

"You know everyone is staring at you like you're crazy..." The man comments mildly, his tone heavy with amusement.

"Let them stare... I care not. My business is my own, and as Saint Paul said, gossipers are damned to hell." It's a slight paraphrase, but it does stop the nearest people from gawking. It is, thankfully, not a long walk to Chris' home in the city, and he ushers the man inside quickly. He seems slightly reluctant to enter, but after some urging he concedes.

"What's your name?" Chris asks once he gets the man inside. He fidgets nervously, his eyes darting around the foyer of Chris' home.

"This is _nice_." He mutters, his attention caught by an expensive vase from the Orient.

"Yes... My wife decorated. Your name?" Chris asks the question once more, and the young man stares at him in shock.

" _Wife_?" He asks softly, his one arm wrapping around himself.

"She's aware of my occasion indulgences, and not here. She's back home." Chris fidgets under the pale gaze of the young man. "My name is Chris.. Chris Jericho, of-"

"Jericho's furs and silks, I know who you are." The man says, a hint of scorn in his voice. "You sure your wife is comfortable with your proclivities?" He asks, and Chris snorts sharply. The man winces, and offers a slightly lop-sided smile. "It's Dean Ambrose. Private Ambrose before you ask." Chris hadn't even considered asking the man's rank, but he supposes it's nice to know. "So... Where shall we _indulge_?" Chris laughs, and takes off his coat.

"I'd like to eat before I indulge, Dean. I advised the housekeeper to serve dinner at six, so shall we?" Chris laughs, and leads the way to the dining room. The housekeeper seems scandalised to see Dean there, but a sharp look from Chris has her scurrying to keep his needs met. She serves dinner quickly, something hale, and hearty, the sort of food you can feel in your belly for hours. Over dinner, Chris managed to get a few war stories out of Dean, but on the subject of his arm he was evasive. He'd skilfully changed the topic, and made it about Chris rather than himself. It seems that whilst in some ways Dean, for a prostitute, is very open, but in others he is private, understandably private. His disability is something inescapable, and unavoidable for him. Every day is a stark reminder that he's lost something, and Chris isn't sure he deals with that so well.

After dinner they retire upstairs, Dean seemingly keen to get on with his work. Chris had considered asking him over dinner if he enjoyed selling his services for money, but it had seemed rude, so he'd kept his tongue. In the privacy of his bedchambers, Chris grabs Dean, and kisses him. Dean seems surprised, and returns the kiss with an unexpected amount of passion. He bucks Chris up against the wall, at once wanting to take control, but being afraid of pushing the boundaries.

"Do what you want, alright?" Chris makes it a question, and Dean laughs softly.

"You won't regret it." He smirks, and sinks to his knees, then he draws Chris cock out from his pants. He licks and strokes Chris hard, then starts suckling on Chris' dick. His lips wrapped tightly around the head, his hand moving along the length. He starts bobbing his head, taking more of Chris' length with each bob. Eventually with each bob, Dean's nose is pressed against Chris' groin. His breathing is laboured, and harsh, almost as much as Chris' is. He tangles his hands in Dean's hair, guiding him to move faster. Dean doesn't resist, he simply keeps sucking, letting Chris fuck his throat. His hand starts fondling Chris' balls, rolling them, tugging on them lightly. Chris lets go of Dean's hair, and lets his head fall back against the wall. Dean moves a little closer, and starts lapping at Chris' balls. He bathes each one with his tongue, licking further, and further back, until his tongue is tasting Chris' taint. His hand starts jacking Chris' dick with slow, sure strokes. Chris is a moaning mess, his hands balled at his sides, resisting the urge to grab Dean's head, and start fucking his throat once more. Eventually Dean seems to tire of Chris' balls, and takes the head of his cock back into his mouth, sucking lightly on the head. His tongue swirls around it, and he pulls back till only the tip is resting on his tongue. He stares up at Chris, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth, and tantalisingly slowly he sinks down the length of Chris' cock. He keeps going until off of Chris' dick is engulfed in his mouth, and throat. He stays in place, making what feels like swallowing motions, the ripples have Chris' hands flying to Dean's hair, holding his head in place. Dean's hand wraps on Chris' thigh sharply, and Chris lets him pull back quickly. After a few gulps of air, Dean pulls the same trick staying down longer this time. Dean pulls back once more, and this time he waits a moment, his hand fisted on his thigh.

"You alright?" Chris asks, and Dean breaths heavily through his nose.

"Gimme a minute." He mutters, his eyes closing.

"What is it? Did I hurt you?" Chris can feel his arousal fading at the thought of hurting Dean.

" _No_!" Dean laughs, and waves his hand over his groin. Chris laughs, and leans down, kissing Dean firmly.

"Come for me. I wanna come down our throat while you come in your hand." Chris whispers in his ear, and Dean shivers slightly.

"You sure?" Dean sounds sceptical, and Chris doesn't answer, he reaches down to untie Dean's flies, drawing his hard cock out. He wraps Dean's hand around his dick, and guides it in a few strokes, then stands up once more. He tugs Dean forward once more, and starts fucking his mouth. Dean's arm is barely visible moving over his cock as Chris stares down, watching his face, trying to judge what gets Dean off the most. It seems that he enjoys almost choking on Chris' cock far more than anyone Chris has ever met. He lets his cock remain in Dean's throat for longer, and longer intervals. Dean comes after only a short while, and Chris speeds up, fucking Dean with abandon, his hands tugging at Dean's hair in a way that has to be uncomfortable. He comes hard, and fast, pumping his seed deep into Dean's gullet. When he lets go of Dean's hair, he sits back, and licks his lips. Chris stays with his back pressed against the wall for a moment, whilst Dean rests back against his heels, his eyes downcast. His hand is covered with his cum, and Chris slips down the wall. He takes Dean's hand, and makes a show of licking it clean, pulling each finger from his mouth this an exaggerated pop. Dean looks like he's torn between laugh, and being aroused. Chris stands, and offers a hand to Dean to help him up. Dean ignores it, and raises to his feet with surprising grace.

"The washroom's over there." Chris gestures towards a door on the far wall, and Dean nods his head, walking in that direction. Chris fixes his clothes, and wonders how Dean will manage to fix his pants with only one hand. It seems he manages fine. He looks slightly cleaner than he had before. He' clearly taken advantage of Chris' water to wash his face as well as his hands.

"So... Like I said, anything for a penny." Dean smiles awkwardly, and Chris leads Dean back downstairs. He takes several pounds from his pouch, and holds them out to Dean. Dean looks down at them warily for a few seconds before he snatches them, and secrets them into some internal pocket of his thin coat. Chris nods slightly, and walks over to his closet. He pulls out one of his more shabby, but still serviceable woollen coats. He holds it out to Dean, and waves him over.

"I will require your services once a week whenever I'm in town." Chris tries to keep his tone businesslike, and he thinks he succeeds when Dean nods. "As I will be requiring you regularly, I will also require you to not freeze to death." He drapes the coat over Dean's shoulders. Dean smiles slightly, and slips his one arm into the sleeve.

"This is a nice coat..." He struggles with the buttons, but manages to get them done up. "I'll try my best, boss." He laughs, and Chris shakes his head, leading the way back downstairs. "You gonna need me this time next week?" He asks, and Chris nods.

"Yes... I will require you to attend Christmas dinner as well." Dean smirks at Chris' words, and nods.

"Alright, boss... Merry Christmas till next week, when it _will_ be." He winks, and leaves the house.

"Merry Christmas until next week, Private Ambrose." Chris watches him shuffle off down the street, staying at the open door until he can't see the former soldier anymore, his mind lost in fantasies of how to make Dean's Christmas as merry as he'd made Chris' evening.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, Rebellecherry, BornToWin12, imbr0guedfella and Shade** **.**

 _Ninth we have **Winter's Tale by Queen** , a request from **JingleJeriBrose**_ _on the Tumblrs._

 ** _As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!_**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	10. Once in Royal David's City

__Warnings: Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk) Implied Poly-amorous (Cesaro/Tyson Kidd/Natalya), AU, Fluff.__

* * *

The stars were shining brilliantly over head, bright and vibrant against the vastness of the endless Void. He stared up, and considered his options. The sky offered no insights on his problem, but he'd not been expecting it to, the Void isn't overly helpful when it comes to suggestions. The Void is intrinsically unhelpful when it comes to suggestions. It's good for one thing, and one thing only, the cover it provides. His work is of the sort that is best under underneath the Void's uncaring gaze. The darkness of a moonless night is perfect for a member of the Thieves Guild, but it's also the sort of night that has the City Guard out in force. A moonless night is a reminder to for them be more vigilant. For all it's benefit to thieves, the Void provides extra dangers. It's a capricious ally, one given to being both helpful, and unhelpful all at once.

"How you doing up here?" There are the sounds of clambering before he's joined on the rooftop. His partner sits down beside him, and casts his gaze out over the water. "It's a nice night, isn't it?" His partner nudges him, and Punk laughs softly.

"Yup... Did you see anything useful?" His partner laughs softly, and nods his head slightly.

"There's a grate that I think leads to the basement, and that's about it." He shrugs, and Punk rests his head on his shoulder. His partner tilts his own head so it sits against Punk's. "I dunno if this is worth it... I saw two patrols going past. One had dogs."

"Goody." Punk mutters dryly, and sighs. There are times he considers a safer profession, he's fairly talented at alchemy, he could scratch out a living selling potions and poultices to travellers and adventurers, but he thinks he'd get bored quickly in that line of work. He supposes he could return to his magical studies, and get into enchanting, or spell-crafting, which would be a little more exciting, but he'd miss the freedom of being outside, and mostly his own boss. Beside him Colt shifts, clearly having spotted something.

"And there's patrol number three. I dunno about this job... It seems too easy, barring the guard, this place has no security, and that grate only has one little lock." He sighs, and Punk glances down from his contemplation of the Void, to the street. A group of guardsmen are making their rounds, torches held high, weaving in and out of the winding alleys.

"Do you ever want to pack this in?" Punk asks suddenly, and Colt laughs.

"Every day." He chuckles, and Punk lifts his head from Colt's shoulder. "But, what else am I gonna do? City Guard? I'd have to pick a city to stay in, and I like being free... Weapon-smith? Same problem... The Assassins Guild? Too messy... Adventurers Guild? Too full of meat-heads... This suits me... It suits you, and as long that stays being the case, I'll stay a member of the Thieves Guild." He turns, and presses a quick kiss to tip of Punk's nose.

"We gonna do this? I think I know their pattern, we should have about thirty minutes." Punk stands, and tightens his dagger belt, checking one of his pouches for lock-picks.

"Thirty? A whole thirty minutes... Great." Colt mutters, and starts climbing down from the roof. He readjusts his gear whilst Punk gets off the roof, and slinks over to the grate to their target house's basement. It takes him mere moments to pick the lock, and slip inside, Colt following him in.

The inside of the basement is dark, but Punk's used to low levels of light. Seeing in the darkness is something you have to be able to deal with in his profession. Colt creeps up the stairs to the house, and starts picking the lock on the door. It takes him a little longer than it would Punk, as he's more cautious than Punk the internal doors are usually Colt's responsibility. Caution suits the internal doors, you don't want to open it quickly, and rouse sleeping home-owners after all.

"I'll take the study, you head to the bedroom. We'll meet in ten minutes. In, and out, okay?" Punk whispers, and Colt nods, darting off quietly.

The study is full of interesting items, that Punk stashes in his bag, then he starts on the safe in behind the portrait of some random member of the family who lives in the house. It's of a blond young man, his skin a rich tan, and his smile pleasant, but otherwise he's fairly unremarkable. Inside there are a few precious gems set in cheap metals, and a cache of high quality potions. Punk wraps the potion bottles in a scrap of fabric he carries for that purpose, and places them carefully into the bag along with the jewellery. When he gets to the basement door, Colt's there, crouched down low, with an odd look on his face.

"I heard something." He mutters,his eyes darting around in the darkness. There's the sound of a blade being unsheathed, the long, quietly metallic sound of sharpened steel on leather. Punk raises from his crouch, scanning the darkness, spotting a figure in the shadows of the opposite end of the corridor. A City Guard stands before them, his sword drawn. He looks like he doesn't really want to fight, but will if he has to. Punk considers the bag of loot over his shoulder, and if it's worth adding murder of a guard to a breaking and entering charge. The Guild could smooth things over, but they'd definitely have leave town for a while. Suddenly, from behind them, there's the sound of another sword being drawn. Punk feels Colt press his back against Punk's own.

"Two on two... Great... I _knew_ this looked too easy." He hisses, and Punk draws his dagger, considering how best to disarm the man in front of him, killing the man will cause more problems that he's worth. The guard is clearly solidly built, and well experienced with his blade. For all he looks like he doesn't want to fight, he has the look of man who is talented at it.

"Stand down." The voice that calls out is female, and Punk bites back a sigh. He dislikes engaging female guards. They tend to be more ruthless, and protective, treating the city as if it were their child. Punk sheaths his dagger, and raises his hands, feeling the back of Colt's against his own.

"You want me to ready a spell?" He murmurs, and Colt shakes his head.

"Too dangerous." He responds quietly. The male guard comes forward, and takes Punk's dagger, then Colt's sword. He lines them up against the wall, their backs pressed against it.

"You're Thieves Guild?" He asks, and Punk nods, watching the warily. "Good... We were hoping to speak with someone from the Guild, and we got two of you." He smiles cheerfully, and turns to his female companion. "You think they'll be able to help?"

"If we help, we got off, right?" Colt asks, and the woman glares at him, but does nod. "We're helping!" He smiles sweetly, and the woman smiles back, a surprisingly warm gesture that makes her look less terrifying. She lights a sconce nearby, and steps further into the light.

"You're not even City Guards." Punk snaps suddenly. The improved lighting has shown that the uniforms the pair are wearing aren't quite right. They look quite like the Guard, but the colour is slightly, ever so slightly, off, and both the chest plate the man's wearing, and the shield in the woman's hand lack the City insignia. The man laughs nervously, and the woman ducks her head. "This is a kidnapping." Punk mutters, and beside him Colt laughs.

"They're Adventurers Guild." He says calmly, and nudges Punk's shoulder lightly. Punk twists his wrist, and lets Colt free the little knife strapped to Punk's wrist. He brandishes it at their far better armed captors with little regard for the differences in arsenal. "Why exactly are you holding us hostage?"

"We need help." The woman says, her expression crestfallen.

"Ask your own bloody Guild." Punk snaps, taking his hands down, and considering if Colt was right about the corridor being too small for a spell. He thinks it might be, but there's a part of him that's willing to try.

"We need more _cunning_." The man mutters, and Punk raises his eyebrow.

"Our beloved teammate was gravely injured by a most foul beast." The woman stares at them imploringly, and Punk snorts dismissively. She frowns slightly, and sheaths her blade, resting her shield against the wall behind her. "My husband... He is lain under healers' care even as we speak." She meets Punk's eyes calmly. "I understand that you might not care, but he is vital to us both. We must seek vengeance for him."

"Again, _ask your own Guild_." Colt sounds almost bored, the little knife he'd been brandishing, like it was his own bastard sword, being used to carelessly gesture with. "This is right up their alley, isn't it?"

"They're unwilling to aide us." The man offers, he holds out Punk's dagger, letting Punk take it back, and return it to his place at his hip. The man reluctantly hands Colt his sword, then he returns his long, heavy blade to it's holster on his back. "The creature that felled Ser Tyson is ferocious, ruthless, and without mercy."

"Oh wow, why didn't you say so! Super dangerous monster? Sign us up!" Punk smirks, and the man looks hopefully.

"Truly?" He looks utterly grateful, and Punk sighs dramatically.

" _No_... You're not from around here, are you?" He asks, and the man shakes his head.

"Ser Cesaro is from over the ocean." The woman snaps, she reaches over, and pats her companion, Ser Cesaro, on the shoulder. "We need help from those practised in stealth, and cunning. The Adventurers Guild is more..." She trails off, looking over at Ser Cesaro.

"Stupid, clumsy..." The woman scowls at him, and Colt laughs. "How about Straight forward?" He offers to try to placate her, and she nods enthusiastically.

"Verily, they are without the necessary skills to track our prey." Ser Cesaro agrees, a wry smile on his lips.

"So what is the monster you're hunting?" Punk leans against the wall, and watches the two adventurers glance between each other nervously.

"T'is a foul beast indeed." Ser Cesaro starts, he glances over at his female companion. "A mighty creature famed throughout the land..."

"T'is name Samoa Joe." The woman butts in, and Punk shakes his head, turning to Colt quickly. His partner is grinning as Punk had feared.

"No." Punk says firmly. Colt's grin widens. "No." Punk repeats, and Colt catches his hand, kissing the scars on the back of it. " _No_! We tried three fucking times! Three of them!"

"We almost had it once..." Colt presses another kiss to the odd cross scar on Punk's hand, the sign of a Mage who had failed their trial to be elevated to the rank of Wizard. Three strikes, and your out, those are the rules. Three chances to complete your trial, and if you fail Mage is the highest rank you're allowed. The failure still stings, one of the very few things Punk has failed at. Though he does suspect that his trial was chosen specifically to be unpassable, he never as well liked by the Wizard's Council, and it wouldn't surprise him to learn he'd been set up to die rather than simply fail.

"Almost isn't the same as actually beating it!" Punk snaps, and scowls at Colt, the fingers on his free hand curling into a ball at the memory of the defeats at the beast's talons.

"We're older, wiser, and have two adventurers with us this time." Colt presses a third kiss to Punk's skin. There's a hopeful look in his eyes, and Punk bites back a sigh. He knows that being defeated had stung Colt's pride as much, if not more, than his own.

"You've faced the beast before?" Ser Cesaro says quietly, a grin spreading over his lips. "The Gods have smiled upon us, Ser Natalya!" He crows, and the woman nods back excitedly.

"We had hoped for one thief, but the gods have delivered us, two! Not only that, one a Mage, and both well versed in our foe! A happy day indeed." Ser Natalya beams at them, and Punk turns from her to Colt once more.

"No." He says a fourth time. "We almost died, _you_ almost died, I'm not-"

"Four on one... And we could ask _them_ for help." Punk frowns, considering that comment. Colt makes a fairly decent point, but asking _them_ for help might cause some unexpected problems. It all depends on how capricious the Void is feeling.

"We could..." Punk sighs, and rubs his forehead. "We could." He repeats, and meets the eyes of the excited looking Adventurers.

"You'll help us?" Ser Natalya asks hopefully. Punk nods tightly, and she lunges at him, pulling him into a firm hug. "Thank you, Sers." She hugs Colt too, and then rests one of her hands on each of their shoulders. "We will be a fine band, and our fair Tyson will be avenged." She turns to Ser Cesaro. There's a light blush on the man's cheeks, and Ser Natalya moves over to him, giving him a tight hug, and a peck on the cheek. "We will slay the beast, then rush to his side." She sounds like she's making a solemn vow, and Ser Cesaro rests his fist over his heart.

"Verily." He mutters, his head bowed slightly.

" _Okay_..." Colt mutters, and glances over at Punk. "So these people seems crazy..." He whispers into Punk's ear, and Punk shrugs. Other people's crazy is generally not that dangerous, but this level of crazy might be problematic. He just hopes that it's not too bad.

"We fit right in then... Three times, Colt... Three times that dragon beat us, and we're going to fight it again." Punk sighs resignedly, and rests his forehead against Colt's. "We should start moving out now... Where did your teammate face the beast?"

"In the valley of the great mountain... Not far from the keep..." Ser Natalya smiles. "Though it is several days worth of trekking."

"Why was he facing it alone?" Colt asks as they all start sneaking out of the house, both bags of swag now slung over Colt's shoulder.

"It challenged him to a duel." Ser Cesaro sighs. "Ser Tyson is valiant, and brave... The beast had assumed a human form, but when Ser Tyson looked to be besting it, the beast took it's true form."

"'Twas a most horrific sight to behold... We're most grateful that a study of Mages were passing through, and managed to lay healing spells upon him." Ser Natalya slips out of the basement last, pulling her shield out the open window.

"Ahem." The sound of a throat clearing behind them has Punk cursing the Void. "What's all this then?" There are two City Guards, both tall, and broad, their faces hidden behind thick facial hair, and a dog standing waiting for them.

"Worry not, t'is our home." Ser Natalya steps forward, a smile on her face. She steps into the circle of light the torch, one of of the Guards is holding, provides.

"Ser Nattie! I knew not that you were home!" One of the guards smiles, and embraces the woman. "I'd heard of the tragedy that befell Ser Kidd... May he recover swiftly." His smile fades to a sincere expression, his hand resting on Ser Natalya's shoulder, the other guard nods slightly, his expression somber.

"Thank you, Guardsman Barrett, Guardsman Sheamus. We'll let you attended your duties." The other guard offers Ser Natalya a curt nod, and turn back to Punk and Colt. She looks tired, and stressed. "This is where we should part ways, Sers."

"We'll gather supplies, and head out at first light, after meeting at the City Gate." Ser Cesaro smiles. "In the meantime, Sers... If you could return our belongings." Colt glances at Punk.

"That was your house?" Punk asks, and the Adventurers nod. Colt manages to half cover a laugh with a cough, and hands the bags over.

"We will see you on the morrow." Ser Natalya smiles, and opens the door to the home they'd just left, Ser Cesaro following along behind her.

"Not a word." Punk snaps, and Colt grins at him. "I don't want to hear about fighting this fucking dragon. I don't want to hear you gloating about how you _knew_ I'd face it again. Not a word."

"If we beat this dragon, you think you'll have earned your Wizard's stripes? I'd quite like to be the official escort of Wizard." Punk glances at him, but doesn't answer. He's afraid, afraid that the only stripes anyone will be earning in this endeavour will be stripes of land to be buried in.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 ** **Kat, Moiself, and Rebellecherry.****

 _ _Tenth we have__ ** _ **Once in Royal David's City**_** , no request today, just be setting up for something

 _ _ **As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!**__

 _ _ **Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.**__


	11. Red Water (Christmas Mourning)

Warnings: Past Slash (Roman Reigns/Dean Ambrose), Mild Slash (Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins), AU, Fluff, Major Character Death (not described), linked to chapter one.

* * *

The week after Roman died Dean's alarm went off at the same time Roman would wake Dean up. At the time Dean thought nothing of it, assuming he'd set the alarm to make sure he was up for work, and went about his day. This continued for weeks, days became weeks so easily without Roman there, but Dean had known they would. Without the man he loved, there was no point in measuring time. Each day was merely one step closer to being with Roman again. Every day something inside Dean felt heavier, like someone kept dropping grains of sand into his stomach, weighing him down with each passing day.

The first time he realises something is amiss is on a rare day off, when the night before he checked to make sure his alarm was off, and it sounded at the same time as always. He'd been confused by it, but he'd put it to the back of his mind. It was nothing worth dwelling on, not really. There was nothing much worth dwelling on, not with Roman gone.

The second time Dean began to feel unsettled was one evening when his fire alarm sounded. He'd nothing cooking, so he'd assumed his cigarette had set it off. He'd not thought about it until twenty minutes later when it sounded again. He once more reset the alarm, and puzzled over what could have set it off. Another fifteen minutes passed, and once more the alarm rang. That time he'd replaced the battery. The fourth time it sounded he took the battery out, and as he was in the kitchen he decided to make dinner, having realised he'd not eaten since breakfast.

The third time truly unnerved Dean. He'd been sitting on his couch, staring at the TV, trying to find something that wasn't Christmassy to watch. He'd no desire to celebrate with Roman gone, so his house is bare of anything even remotely festive. When Roman had been alive they'd gone all out. Tree, tinsel, holly, mistletoe, the whole nine yards, and it'd been amazing, but without Roman there's no point, so Dean hadn't done anything. He'd tired of TV quickly enough, and had booted up his laptop to try and get some work done, when his cell phone chimes with the notification of a Facebook message. Dean opens the app without looking at the preview.

 _Merry Christmas – Roman Reigns_

His heart pounds loudly in his ears, and Dean glares at the phone wondering who would be so cruel as to pull such a mean joke.

 _Fuck you! - Dean Ambrose_

 _Merry Christmas – Roman Reigns_

 _Fuck you! I don't know who this is, but FUCK YOU! - Dean Ambrose_

 _Merry Christmas – Roman Reigns_

 _Jimmy, Jey is this either one of you? THIS IS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY! STOP IT! - Dean Ambrose_

 _Guess what I want for Christmas, Lunatic. -Roman Reigns_

Dean powers down his phone, and resists the urge to start weeping. It'd been Roman's nickname for him, given because of Dean's fondness of, and fascination with urban myths. He doesn't sleep that night, he lies awake listening to his laptop chiming all night with Facebook messages, too afraid to get up and read them.

"Which one of you was it?" The next morning Dean storms into Jimmy and Jey's business, brandishing his phone, the Facebook messenger open. They both look at Dean in confusion.

"Dean..." Jimmy starts, and Jey steps closer to him.

"Why the hell are you storming in here screaming and shouting?" He catches Dean's wrist, and holds it still, looking at he phone screen. "What the fuck?" He whispers, and Jimmy grabs the phone.

"They're all from last night... But how?" He's scrolling though the messages all claiming to be from Roman, all asking Dean to guess what he wants for Christmas.

"Hacked, the account has to have been hacked and reactivated... I disabled it after Uce died." Jey folds his arms, and then walks over to the office computer. "I'll look now..." He trails off, and turns to them, his face noticeably paler. "It's still deactivated." He whispers, and Jimmy shakes his head.

"I said it was ghosts! I fucking said Uce was haunting your ass, but you didn't listen to me!" Jimmy pulls his own phone from his pocket, and finds something, then sends a message to Dean. "That's the best one I could find online. You go, and you speak to this dude, alright?" Dean reads the message that had just been sent to his cell, and shakes his head.

"This asshole's in Chicago! Couldn't you find someone closer to home for me to waste money on?" Once Dean finishes speaking his Facebook messenger chimes again.

 _Guess what I want for Christmas, Lunatic. - Roman Reigns_

Dean swallows heavily, and pulls up Google, searching for flights to Chicago.

When he lands, he gives a cabbie the address Jimmy had given him, and is taken to an apartment building. It looks nice enough, and nothing like what Dean had been anticipating. He knocks on the door, not entirely sure what to expect. It's opened after a short while by a thin man. His skin is pale, sallow almost, stubble on his face, his hair shorn. He'd be handsome if it wasn't for the heavy bags, and dark rings under his eyes.

"I... I'm looking for-"

"I know." The man's accent is local, softly Chicagoan. "You found me... What'd you want?"

"I think I need your help." Dean mutters. He'd not known what he'd been expecting from a famous medium, but this skinny, exhausted man isn't it. Though perhaps he should have, the man looks like someone you'd call Punk.

"You _think_?" He laughs, and squints at Dean, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Seth!" He shouts, and beckons Dean in. Reluctantly Dean follows the man inside the apartment. Inside is definitely not what he'd expected. He's seen enough TV, and movie depictions of mediums to know that it should more _mystical_ inside their homes. There's not a single flouncy scarf, or silk drape to be seen. There are several crystal balls on a long low table in the middle of the room, and there's what looks like dozens crystals hanging from threads at the window, sending rainbows all around the room. In one corner there's a reclining easy chair, and a basin of reddish water on a table beside it. There's a young man sitting behind a desk in the opposite corner, his nose buried in a book. "Seth!" The young man looks up, an embarrassed smile on his face.

"Punk?" He stands, and comes over quickly, his eyes darting to Dean briefly before returning to Punk. "What is it?"

"You wanted to be more hands on? Well, here you go." He waves at Dean, and Dean stares at the medium incredulously. "What?" He turns to Dean, a smirk on his lips. Dean shakes his head quickly, the medium hadn't looked like he'd take being argued with well. "This isn't a _big_ problem, and I've more important things to be getting on with." Punk offers Dean a slightly apologetic smile, one clearly aiming at saying no offence meant, but I've bigger fish to fry.

"Are you sure?" The young man, Seth, asks. He looks unreasonably excited, and Punk nods absently. He walks over to the basin of reddish water, and carries it out of the room. "Hi, I'm Seth." He holds his hand out to Dean. "I think the boss has just assigned me to your case." Dean takes Seth's hand, and shakes his firmly.

"I'm Dean Ambrose." As Dean speaks Punk re-enters the room, and sets the basin now filled with clean water down on the table by the easy chair.

"You sure you need to-"

"You've work to do Seth." Punk snaps, and sits in the chair. He produces a razor, and slashes up the vein of one of his arms. Dean attempts to rush over, but Seth grabs him, and holds him fast.

"He knows what he's doing." Seth attempts to reassure Dean, but it's not really working. There's a panic, and a desire to save the medium from whatever it is he's doing, a thoroughly normal reaction to someone just slashing their arm, Dean thinks. "He'll be fine." Punk's placed his arm in the basin, his eyes falling closed, his breathing slowing down until his chest barely moves.

"What's he done?" Dean stares at what looks like the dead body of Punk.

"He's visiting the Land of the Dead..." Seth glances over at Punk, a slight frown on his lips. "He's... Don't worry about him, like I said he'll be fine." For all Seth looks unhappy, there's an undeniable fondness in his gaze as it rests on Punk. The looks causes a feeling in Dean's stomach he doesn't want to dwell on.

"He's bleeding a lot..." Dean can see the blood seeping into the basin's water, spidery, wispy trails of red marring the clear liquid. Seth laughs softly, and nods.

"He'll be fine, trust me... It's not the first time he's done this... All year, ever since-" Seth cuts himself off, and smiles brightly at Dean. "Really it's nothing to worry about, coming back from the Dead is nothing for a man like him." Dean nods absently, and watches Punk's body carefully. He supposes there's a reason the people online had referred to him as The Resurrectionist, but Dean had assumed it was for less _literal_ reasons.

"Okay... So what do we do?" Dean sits on a cushion on the floor by the low table, when Seth gestures to them.

"Would you like a coffee? I just made a pot..." Seth looks nervous, and Dean nods watching him scurry off. He takes the opportunity to watch Punk once more. His chest is barely moving, his skin getting paler. It's a very disconcerting sight. "Here." Seth says as he sets a cup of coffee down in front of Dean. "So... What brought you here?" Dean takes a sip of the coffee, and sighs slightly.

"It's kind of stupid... I... I think I'm being haunted." He rushes the last part, but all Seth does is nod slightly.

"Well, you wouldn't be here if you weren't." He smiles, and takes a sip of his own coffee. "Do you have any idea who might want to haunt you? Has anyone important to you died recently?" Dean closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath

"My lover... He died nearly a year ago." In his mind, Dean can see Roman's body lying motionless on the mortuary slab, his skin pale, his hair lank, and still matted with blood in places. "Car crash... A three way pile up... The only one who survived was a little old lady." He opens his eyes to see Seth chewing on the end of a pen, a notebook on the table in front of him.

"I'm sorry." Seth mutters softly, he sounds genuinely sad for Dean's loss, and it brings an unexpected sense of comfort to Dean. "So when did you figure out you were being haunted?"

"Yesterday... I..." Dean opens the messenger app on his phone, and slides it across the table to Seth. Seth's eyes widen as he reads the messages.

"This was the first indication? Usually there's earlier signs before a spirit decides to be so drastic." Seth makes more notes, and Dean sighs softly.

"My alarm... It goes off every morning at the same time Roman used to wake up... I'd sleep till noon if left to my own devices, but he'd always make sure I'd be up, and about." Dean takes another sip of the coffee, and Seth nods again.

"Okay... Okay..." He mutters softly. "I'd like to try and contact him." He smiles slightly, and sets his hands on the table, palms up. "If you can give me your hands." Dean places his hands in Seth's, and tries to ignore the little tingles that the contact causes. He's not touched someone else willingly like this since Roman died. He'd avoided human contact as much as possible since the day death stole Roman from him. Seth's eyes fall closed, and his skin grows clammier the longer they sit there. After what feels like an eternity, but was probably only fifteen minutes, Seth pulls his hands away, and flops back against the floor. Dean bounces to his feet, and rushes over to him. Seth's lying staring at the ceiling, shivering as though freezing.

"Are you okay?" Dean rests his hands on Seth's shoulders, uncertain what to do. Seth shakes his head, and closes his eyes.

"It's cold... _So_ cold." He whispers, his teeth chattering.

"Blanket on the couch." Punk's voice is soft, and wispy. Dean turns to him, seeing him binding the arm he'd cut open with gauze. He looks pale, but otherwise fine. "He's never been to the other side before... The cold takes some getting used to." Punk waves weakly at the couch, and Dean grabs the blanket there. He wraps it around Seth tightly.

"Thank you." Seth murmurs, and Dean nods, helping Seth to his feet, and over to the couch. Punk's sitting in his easy chair watching them calmly, sipping at an energy drink. "It's so big... I couldn't find what I was looking for." Seth's eyes are on Punk, but he's leaning against Dean. Dean can feel the cold that's clinging to Seth leeching his body heat.

"It takes time to know what to look for." Punk still sounds incredibly soft, and fragile. "You did pretty well for your first time." He smiles slightly at Seth. "You'll need to come back tomorrow." Punk turns to Dean. "I can give you a charm to keep the spirit away in the meantime." Punk beckons Dean over to him. He dips his finger into the reddish water of the basin, and holds the hand of the bandaged arm out. Dean places his hand in Punk's. Punk draws a strange symbol on the back of Dean's hand, the water absorbing into Dean's skin rapidly. "Come by about lunchtime. I'll make sure Seth eats plenty, and he should be able to get closer to your problem." Punk closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Dean glances over at Seth. He's still huddled on the couch, the blanket wrapped more tightly around him.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" It's undeniably a question, and Dean nods slightly. He'd not booked a hotel, but he supposes it won't be too difficult to find one in a city as big as Chicago.

The next day he wakes up late, for the first time in months his alarm doesn't sound, and he's not sure if it's coincidence or the charm Punk drew on him. He gets to Punk's apartment at around noon. This time Seth answers the door, a slightly strained look on his face. The apartment is full of Christmas decorations, and what looks like the remnants of a bonfire in a metal box, the scent of burnt plastic hanging in the air.

"What happened here?" Dean asks as he takes a seat on a cushion once more. He'd spared a glance for Punk's mostly motionless body on the way in. He's once more in his chair, his arm sluggishly bleeding into the basin of water. It's not quite as shocking the second time, though it is unsettling.

"Punk decided that he need to bring Christmas to the Land of the Dead... You missed his smashing of mugs of eggnog." Seth laughs, and Dean stares at him. "To bring things over, he needs to _kill_ them... I swear the day I watched him smash the shit out of an iMac almost made me cry." Seth laughs again. "So... Yesterday we made some progress, and I'd like to try again today... I've got more clothes on, and Punk told me I should have the blanket closer. I think I'll be able to make maybe two trips in." Seth gestures to the blanket sitting on the floor beside him. The first trip is much like the first, Seth gone for maybe ten minutes, then shivering whilst wrapped in the blanket. This time Dean sits by him, his arms around his shoulders, rubbing his hand up and down, trying to bring heat back to him.

"Are you sure you want to try again?" Dean asks when Seth pulls away, the colour back in his cheeks, and a determined look in his eyes.

"I can do this." He says firmly, and settles himself on his cushion once more, the blanket draped around his shoulders like a cloak. Dean nods slightly, and takes his own seat. "Gimme your hands." Seth takes a hold of Dean's hands, and smiles at him. "We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise." His smile stirs something deep inside Dean. He's not sure where the feeling comes from, it's rather like the strange jealousy he'd felt yesterday when Seth had spoken so fondly of Punk. He decides to not dwell on it, instead he lets his mind drift, his gaze focussed on Seth's face.

"He's been in a long time." Punk's voice startles Dean, and he turns to him. Punk looks terrible, even paler than yesterday, and the dark rings under his eyes deeper.

"Is he okay?" Dean stares at him, and Punk regards Seth absently, the way someone regards a painting they don't really care for.

"He's found your problem." Punk smiles slightly, and pats Dean's shoulder. "He can't do anything about it now, because he needs to come out, but he found the spirit attached to you." Punk sounds like a proud parent, and he walks over to Seth. He crouches down beside him, and pulls him into a hug. Seth wakes up groggily, his movements slow, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow and fast.

"I did it." He sounds triumphant, but weak. "I actually found the spirit." Punk nods absently, and squeezes Seth's shoulders tightly.

"You did. I'm pleased." Punk hadn't sounded overly pleased, but it's not Dean's place to pry into their relationship. "You think you'll be able to sever the bond tomorrow?" Punk moves over to his chair once more.

"I don't know... I... I'll study more tonight." Seth wraps the blanket around himself tighter, and Dean moves around the table to hug Seth, offering him some of Dean's body heat. Punk shakes his head, and slices his arm.

"Seth... Have night off." Is the last thing he says before he drifts to the Land of the Dead.

"A night off?" Seth mutters incredulously. He shrugs Dean off, and stands shakily. "Hey... Uh, Dean?"

"Hmm?" Dean gets to his feet, dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He thinks he knows what Seth's going to ask, and there's no way he can accept. Roman's been dead less than a year. He barely knows Seth. He's Seth's client. He's not ready for socialising.

"You wanna grab a drink with me?" Seth smiles hopefully, and Dean feels terrible, because he knows in refusing he's going to be crushing something in Seth. He's clearly just as lonely as Dean is, but unlike Dean, it seems Seth is willing to take steps to alleviate that loneliness. Dean isn't ready, he doesn't think he'll ever be ready.

"Not tonight..." Dean smiles awkwardly, and he turns to leave. "I'll be over tomorrow... Maybe we can finish this then?" He can tell Seth took that the wrong way. Dean didn't mean for it to sound as cold as it did, but there's nothing he can do to fix it now. He leaves under Seth's pointedly turned away gaze, and the quiet sound of Punk's shallow breaths.

The third visit, they get straight down to business, Seth's pride seems to be hurt from Dean turning him down, and he doesn't dwell on small talk. He takes Dean's hands as soon as they're both seated, and he enters the Land of the Dead. Dean watches him carefully, watches the colour drain from his skin, and slight hint of blue appearing on his lips. Dean almost wants to shake Seth out of it when he notices the blue spreading under his fingers nails, but suddenly he pulls his hands away.

"I... It's a message, but I can't..." Seth looks furious with himself, and rubs his forehead. "I don't know how to... Wait." He gets up, and carefully approaches Punk. Once more Punk is bleeding out in his easy chair. Dean's almost used to the sight of him hovering between life and death. It's not an easy sight to behold, but it's more familiar to Dean then that of Punk up and moving around. Seth gently shakes Punk's shoulder, causing him to blink awake. He looks confused, and mildly annoyed.

"Wha?" He groans. Seth's back is turned to Dean, but his posture is submissive and apologetic. He bends his head closer to Punk, and Dean can't make out what he's saying. Punk stands shakily, and with Seth's help settles down on the floor by the table. Seth rushes off to the kitchen, and comes back with a glass of gently steaming liquid, and a plate of cookies. Punk takes one, and starts nibbling at it. He gestures for Seth to sit down. "Message?" He mumbles, polishing off his cookie, and starting on another after taking a sip his drink.

"Yes... I don't know what it is, the spirit isn't strong enough." Seth looks suitably embarrassed, and Punk nods absently.

"Only one tie left... Roman's pretty far in the processing, makes sense." Punk yawns, and takes another drink. He looks far better when he turns to Dean. "You're the only thing keeping him connected here." It's not accusatory, but Dean feels guilty all the same. If it wasn't for him, Roman would have moved on to wherever it is he's going. "Don't worry about it..." He smiles awkwardly, and rubs his eyes. "I know it's hard to let go." One of his hands wraps around the little stone that dangles from the chain around his neck. "I'll talk to him for you." Punk says to Seth, and he closes his eyes. Watching Punk communicate with the Dead isn't the same as watching Seth. Seth always looks slightly pained, but Punk looks perfectly at ease, his normally furrowed brow smooth, his lips set in a half smile. He laughs suddenly, and opens his eyes to look at Dean. "I like him, he's a sharp bastard." Punk grins, and nods absently. His eyes fall closed once more, and he nods a few more times, a smile settling on his lips. After a few minutes of tense watching Punk, Dean looks over at Seth. His attention is totally on Punk, watching him with awe.

"He's good at this, isn't he?" Dean asks, feeling stupid for it, but wanting to break the silence somehow. He's quite sure Punk doesn't need silence, the way Seth does, to work.

"The best..." Seth smiles fondly, and something close to jealousy fills Dean's gut. He glances over at Punk once more, there's a broad grin on Punk's lips. It's pretty clear he's trying to hold back a laugh. "It's my dream to one day be as good as him... I'm not bad, but he just makes it look so _easy_." Seth sounds horribly close to dreamy, and Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the irrational spikes of jealousy he can feel.

"You've been doing really well so far." He offers, and Seth turns to him with a smile.

"Thanks, but if Punk wasn't busy he'd have had this sorted out in your first visit... It's been two already, and I'm still blundering along." Seth smiles wryly, and Dean shakes his head.

"I'm honoured to be your first case, and I'm happy I've gotten to spend so much time with you... I've not really... I mean, since Roman died, I've not spent much time with anyone other than my work colleagues, and Roman's cousins." Dean glances away, but he can feel Seth's gaze on him.

"Don't you get lonely?" Seth asks softly, a slightly wistful look in his eyes. "I'm always working, studying to be better, and I _love_ my work, but even I get lonely." Dean laughs softly, and rubs at the back of his neck.

"I've been lonely since Roman died." He confesses, and Seth nods, his expression full of sympathy. "But... It's like going out, meeting new people... It's too much, and I feel like I'd... Ro's not even been dead a year." Dean finishes, and a blush floods over Seth's cheeks.

"Yeah... Not even a year." He repeats softly, his attention on the crystal ball in the centre of the table. Punk suddenly bursts out laughing, and both Dean and Seth turn to him quickly. Whatever was so amusing seems to pass, and his face goes blank.

"I'm gonna need you to give me some time alone with my lunatic." The voice that comes out of Punk's mouth is undeniably Roman's, and Dean takes a moment to revel in the almost forgot sound of it. Seth stares at Punk for a few seconds, then stands, and leaves the room. "You never guessed what I wanted for Christmas." Dean isn't sure how to answer, he sits, staring at Punk for what feels like hours. "C'mon, Deano. Guess what I want for Christmas."

"I don't... I don't know, Ro... To be alive? To come back home? To have never left me?" Dean's hands are shaking, his stomach feels close to rebellion, and he wants nothing more for Punk to _be_ Roman. Hearing his voice is one thing, but Dean misses Roman's arms around him so much more than anything.

"Nope." If it was strange to hear Roman's voice again, it's even stranger to hear Roman's terrible impression of Dean once more. He takes a deep breath, and stares at Punk's blank face, trying to superimpose an image of Roman's handsome visage over it.

"I don't know, Ro... I really don't." Dean whispers, and a smile spreads over Punk's lips.

"The same thing I wanted all the time we were together, how's that for a hint?" He laughs, and Dean can feel a shiver run through him. He'd _never_ thought he'd hear Roman's deep, rich laugh again. He'd thought it was lost to him, and hearing it once more brings tears to his eyes.

"I don't know, Ro... I don't." Dean swipes at his tear filled eyes, feeling at once embarrassed, and utterly at ease.

"I want you to be happy." Dean snorts at those words. If Roman had wanted him to be happy, then Roman shouldn't have died. It doesn't matter that he'd had no control over the matter. If Dean's happiness is what he wants, Roman has to know that's impossible without him.

"You want me to die too?" Dean asks, and Roman laughs heartily.

"Always so melodramatic." Roman's smirk looks so strange on Punk's face, but Dean isn't complaining. It's easy to picture that expression on a different face, easy to see Punk's features morph, and his hair grow long, and thick.

"The only way I'm going to be happy is with you, Roman... You _know_ that!" Dean snaps, and once more Roman's laugh spills from between Punk's lips.

"I'm dead, you Lunatic." Roman's fond exasperation is something Dean's missed, his frustration with Dean's unwavering view of the world was a point of constant contention between them.

"Exactly! If you expect me to be happy, I have to be too." Dean folds his arms, and ignores the sick feeling in his stomach that the thought of being dead inspires in him. "There's-"

"Don't even finish that sentence, you've plenty to live for... You need to move on, Dean. I'm gone, I'm dead, but you're not." Dean shakes his head, trying to avoid the truth in those words. "I keep trying to push you in the right direction, and bringing you here took all I had... Those Facebook messages, the alarms, the fire alarms in the kitchen... It was all to remind you that you're still alive. You've a whole life ahead of you, a whole life to live, a whole lotta love to give."

"Ro... You've not even been dead a year." Dean sputters, Roman laughs again, and Dean stares at Punk's face wishing he could see the expression Roman would be wearing as he speaks.

"There's not a timeline you have to follow... You can't help your feelings..." Roman's smile, his soft, kind, gentle smile sits on Punk's thin lips. "Take him up on his offer of a drink... See how things go, okay?"

"Who?" Dean asks softly, something inside of him feeling light for the first time since Roman died.

"C'mon... Why'd you think I asked him to leave?" Roman's laugh is loud, and Dean can feel a blush on his cheeks. "He's cute... I like him." Roman's smile on Punk's face looks alien, and Dean finds himself laughing.

"I... Roman... I love you."

"I know." Dean frowns at the interruption, and Punk's hand waves, gesturing for Dean to continue talking.

"I love you, and I miss you _so_ much, but I'm holding you back... I never thought... I've been selfish. I... I'll miss you every day, but I'll let you go... I'll try... I'll-"

"See if Seth wants to get a drink later?" Dean can't help but laugh at the hopefulness in Roman's tone.

"Yeah... I will." Dean smiles, and grabs Punk's hand, squeezing it hard.

"I love you too, my Lunatic... I will _always_ love you, but I have to go. Thank you for making my life so bright, and thank you for letting me go." Punk's hand goes limp for a few seconds before he tugs it back. He takes a drink of the now cold liquid in his glass. "Have him back by eleven." Punk laughs, and stands, stretching as he does. "Seth!" He snaps. Seth doesn't appear, and Punk glances at the door. "Where'd he..." Punk trails off, and shakes his head, going back to his chair.

"Wait." Dean rushes over to him. "Is he happy? Is Roman okay? Did he... I mean did he go to Heaven? He was good man, he can't have gone to Hell." Punk laughs softly, and smiles at Dean.

"What happens after death isn't something I can share with the Living... It's part of my agreement with the Powers That Be." Punk smiles sadly, and leans back in his chair. "He's happy though... He is where he should be, as are you." Dean nods slightly, and considers the medium sitting before him.

"What are you doing there?" He blurts out, and Punk laughs softly, his hand reaching for the stone around his neck.

"We make decisions in life that affect us... We choose your destinies, and we have to live with the consequences of our actions... I made a decision that didn't just affect me... I... This is a soul, a soul I bound to myself... I..." Punk sighs, and tightens his grip on the stone. "I am in love. The sort of love you would rend Heaven and Hell for. The kind of love that can destroy as easily as it can create." He smiles awkwardly, and Dean stares at him for a moment.

"That's how you can pass between the Living and the Dead so easily... You're bound to a dead soul?" Dean stares at him, partially in awe, and partially in fear. Punk nods slowly. "What is it you're trying to do?" Punk laughs suddenly, and shrugs.

"Some times I'm not sure to be honest... I think I've changed my mind about what we're trying to do as much as he has." Punk picks up his razor, and flicks it open. "Remember back by eleven." Dean nods, and turns away before Punk slashes his arm again. He goes in search of Seth, finding him in a small room full of books, ear-buds in his ears, his head bobbing to the music he's listening to.

"Hey." Dean shakes his shoulder, and Seth turns to him with a beaming grin.

"Your ghost is gone!" He bounces to his feet, and hugs Dean tightly, then quickly lets go. "I'm so happy for you! Your aura's so much lighter! It must have gone really well!"

"Yeah... It was good... Super cathartic... Your boss is quite the medium." Dean smiles, and pulls Seth into another hug. "You're gonna be better than him one day, I'm sure of it." Dean whispers in Seth's ear. Seth doesn't manage to cover the slightly shaky breath he takes at the feeling of Dean's voice at his ear.

"Better than the best?" Seth laughs lightly, and pulls away from Dean. "I doubt it." He smiles, and Dean laughs.

"You don't have his help on the other side." Seth looks shocked at Dean's words, and Dean smiles awkwardly. "Is that not a thing people know?"

"It took me three months to get that out of him." Seth manages to shake his shock off quickly. "He must like you."

"Yeah well... I'm pretty likeable." Dean stuffs his hands into his pockets, and steels his courage. "Look... I'm gonna be in town for a few days." He can feel butterflies in his stomach, a tantalising lightness compared to the heaviness that'd been there for so long. "And I was wondering... I mean if you don't want to, I totally understand, but I..." Seth tilts his head to one side slightly, confusion in his eyes. "Seth, you wanna have dinner? With me? Tonight?" Seth grins, and nods.

"Yeah sure! I know just the place."

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, Kat, and Rebellecherry.**

 _Eleventh we have **Red Water (Christmas Mourning)**_ , as requested by JingleJeriBrose on the Tumblrs.

 _ _ **As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!**__

 _ _ **Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.**__


	12. Common Cold

_Warnings: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), AU, Fluff._

* * *

When Steve tells people he's retired they look at him strangely. He knows he looks young for it, but he was injured in the line of duty, and there wasn't much he could do about that. The neck surgery had been terrifying, and returning to the being a cop on the beat hadn't been an option. He'd taken to drinking to try to get over the lose. Drinking had lead to more loses. His wife left, he'd almost lost his house, and it'd taken a stern talking to from his old boss to get him into a meeting. He'd spent months struggling, months of trying to get himself on the straight and narrow. He'd gotten himself together, but after finalising the divorce, he'd fallen off the wagon. Another talking to had seen him back with AA, and once more struggling into sobriety.

About a year ago, he'd moved up north, and taken the job he's currently in. Working security at a grocery store is quite the climb down from police work, but it's not all bad. He enjoys talking with customers, he almost enjoys the rest of the work, though he could definitely live without the uniform. It's hot and itchy in Summer, and too thin to be comfortable in Winter. There is one bright spot in his job, other than the amusement the general public provide, and that's one of his colleagues. A young man, tall, solidly built, with a sharp wit, and glorious laugh.

His bisexuality is something Steve's always downplayed, even to himself, but sometimes he'll meet a man who grabs his attention and won't let go. Deputy Store Manager Phil 'Punk' Brooks is one of those men. Steve rarely has good reasons to talk to the younger man, but he's pretty talented at inventing ones. They have a little routine, one Steve's carefully cultivated, of a morning cup of coffee together before starting their shifts. He knows that Punk, fourteen years his junior, isn't interested in Steve the way Steve is in him, but it's nice to sit with a good-looking young man, and chat. Steve doesn't often indulge his fantasies, or his fancies, but he does indulge in imagining having Punk sitting at his breakfast table, or cuddling on the couch. He's indulged more than once in the thought of Punk in his bed. More than once he's imagined the young man on his back, staring up at Steve, a smile on his lips, and his legs spread. It's a pleasant enough fantasy, but Steve knows that's all it is. Punk is too young, and too far out of his league.

"Morning, Punk." Steve greets the Deputy Manager cheerfully, when he enters the break room. Punk glances at him, then sits heavily in the chair opposite Steve. He seems to curl into himself, his arms rest on the table, and his head on top of them. "You alright?" It's not like Punk to be so quiet. Steve stands, and fetches him a cup of coffee, setting it close enough that the scent can reach him. The close proximity to caffeine seems to stir Punk, and he sits up, his hands wrapping around the cup. "You look terrible." Steve smiles awkwardly when Punk's gaze rest on him.

"It's nothing... Just a cold." Punk stares at him blankly for a moment, and then starts coughing. "I'll be fine by the end of the day."

"Punk... Take a day off." Steve resists the impulse to grab his hands, and implore him properly. As much as seeing Punk, and talking with him like this in the mornings is usually the highlight of Steve's day, he doesn't want Punk to be suffering just so Steve can have it, and by the looks of Punk he is suffering a great deal.

"I can't... No sick days during the Holiday rush." He tries for a smile, but his face resists, and the expression he pulls is nothing more than a grimace. "It'll pass, and I'll be fine." This time Punk manages to smile, and Steve nods slightly.

"Now, I know that you're one of them _straight edge_ people, but have you taken something for this?" Steve watches Punk shake his head, and start sipping at his coffee. " _Punkster_! You should take some medicine... It's not the same as-"

"I know, but it's not bad enough yet." Punk smiles slightly. "If it gets worse, I'll take something."

"If it gets worse, I'm gonna give you something." Steve mutters, and Punk laughs softly. At the sound of Punk's laugh Steve realises just how that phrase could have been taken. "I, uh... I should go start my shift." Steve stands, and heads over towards the door.

"Steve!" Punk calls out, and Steve turns to him. "I just wanna... Thanks. If it gets worse I'll hunt you down." He smiles, and once more starts coughing.

"You better." Steve laughs, and leaves the break room, pleased that his accidental innuendo doesn't seem to have affected his relationship with Punk.

All day, Steve keeps his eye on Punk, watching him seem to deteriorate as the day progresses. By lunch, Punk's slumped in the Customer Services booth, his head in his arms once more. He manages to pull himself together before a _large_ man approaches the booth. The guy looks big enough to have his own gravitational field, and utterly furious. The man starts shouting, and Punk seems to shrink in the face of the man's wrath. It's not usually how these things go. Normally Punk will talk the customer out of their ire swiftly, but today that seems beyond him. He nods meekly, and starts coughing again. Punk's illness seems to annoy the man further.

"You think one of us should go help?" Steve's fellow security guard is watching the scene unfolding as well. Punk's taken a drink of water, and has started talking. The angry man is shaking slightly, his rage growing. Punk says something else, and the man seems to deflate.

"I think he's got it." Steve smiles slightly, the man is now the picture of calm reason, but Punk looks exhausted.

"He should be in bed." The other security guard mutters, and Steve holds back the comment that Punk _should_ be in bed, Steve's bed particularly.

The rest of the day, Steve keeps an eye on Punk when he can, but it seems Punk quickly finds non-public jobs to be doing, and he's off the shop-floor for the majority of the remainder of their shift. Once Steve's clocked out, he heads to the staff locker-room, finding Punk slumped on a bench near his locker.

"Hey, Punk?" Steve leans against the door frame, feigning being casual, but inside his stomach is full of worms. He's no idea what Punk's going to make of this offer, but Steve hopes that it's taken in the spirit it's intended in.

"Yeah?" He looks up at Steve. He looks worse than he had that morning. His eyes are slightly red, and his nose looks painful. It looks like his cold has gotten far worse over the course of the day.

"Jesus man... You have to have taken something by now." Steve crosses the room, and stoops in front of Punk. "I made soup the other day, and there's a Blackhawks game on tonight, I know you're a fan." It's entirely not what Steve had intended to offer. He'd planned on offering to take Punk to a local sports bar that knows that Steve doesn't drink to watch the game, but Punk looks awful, clearly going out isn't what he needs. He looks at Steve blearily.

"I..." He starts, and then coughs. "What kind of soup?" He smiles weakly, and Steve stands up, a stupidly broad grin on his face.

"Chicken noodle. It's like Fate had this planned." Steve watches Punk pull his coat on slowly, then start winding his scarf around his neck. "You got a hat? Gloves? That's not gonna keep you warm enough out there, Punkster. It's snowing out." Punk glances up from fussing with his scarf.

"Uh... I think there's a hat in my locker. When did it start snowing?" He roots slowly around in his locker, and produces a beanie. He tugs it on, and Steve smiles at him. He looks terrible, his skin pale and clammy, his eyes and nose red, his lips even paler than his skin, but still Steve thinks he's beautiful.

The drive back to Steve's small apartment is slow, and cautious. Coming from Texas snow isn't something Steve's overly familiar with, so he knows he's overly careful, but Punk doesn't seem to mind. It seems like he's fallen into a nap, his head bobbing slightly with the movements of the car.

"We're here." Steve shakes him awake carefully once they arrive at Steve's building.

"Did I fall asleep? Fuck... I must be sicker than I thought." Punk moans, and stretches. He turns to Steve with a smile. "Thanks for inviting me over." He looks genuinely grateful, and Steve can feel a stupid blush forming on his ears.

"Well, it's just me, and I made far too much soup..." Steve smiles awkwardly, and gets out of the car, rushing around to opens Punk's door with a flourish. He chuckles when Steve helps him out of the truck, thankfully amused rather than offended by Steve's aide.

"I must look pretty terrible for you to be looking after me like this." Punk laughs once they're inside. Steve takes his coat, and hangs it up by his own, chasing away the idea of the two coats being peg-mates more often.

"You look like you could use a little little looking after." Steve smiles slightly, and hopes it sounds less creepy than he thinks it might. Punk chuckles at Steve comment, and toes his boots off, trailing along behind Steve to the kitchen. "Have a seat, I'll start warming the soup up. The game starts in what, like an hour?"

"Yeah, should be." Punk takes a seat at the table, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Just sending a message to my room-mate." He waves his phone at Steve, a smile on his face. "Don't want him to start worrying." Punk laughs, his attention on his cell. Steve sets the pot of soup on the stove, and turns on the ring, stirring the soup a couple of times.

"Would he?" He asks, taking the seat opposite Punk.

"Probably." Punk slips his phone back in his pocket. "He's a worry-wart." He smiles, and then smothers a cough with his hand.

"I'll make some coffee." Steve stands once more, and Punk nods through his coughing fit. "How did you get so sick?"

"Colt, my room-mate, catches the worst colds, and he always gives them to me." Punk's rubs his temples when Steve turns back to him. "You don't have anyone else to share your soup with?" He asks, and Steve laughs nervously, taking his seat once more.

"Since the divorce I've been... I've not had time to look." Steve smiles awkwardly, and Punk nods.

"I get that, and anyone you do find... Well, there's always something isn't there?" He laughs, and coughs once more. He produces a tissue from another pocket, and dabs at his nose. "I really hate being sick." He shakes his head.

"It's not fun... Especially second hand colds." Steve, stands, checks on the soup, then pours two mug of coffee, and sets them on the table. "You don't have your eye on someone? A handsome guy like you should have no problems in finding someone." Steve's never asked Punk's sexual preferences before, he thinks maybe he should have, but that might have merely added fuel to the fire of his crush, or snuffed it out completely. He'd decided that Punk was unobtainable, but pleasant to think of, long ago, and hasn't been in a hurry to change Punk's status in that respect.

"Like I said, there's _always_ something." Punk laughs, and takes a sip of his coffee. "It's a long standing joke between Colt and I that, I have the worst gaydar ever. I always fall for straight guys." He smiles, and takes another drink.

"You're gay?" Steve asks, thinking he sounds too surprised. A miserably resigned look crosses Punk's face.

"That's not a problem is it?" He sounds deeply distressed, and Steve laughs loudly, shaking his head.

"No, not a problem..." He trails off, realising that it is a problem, but definitely not in the way Punk had been worried over. It's a problem because there's a slightly, ever so slightly, higher chance that Steve fantasies could be made into realities now.

"I'm glad." Punk beams, and takes another drink. "I..." His cheeks flush red, and he takes another hasty drink, which catches in his throat wrong, setting off another couching fit. Steve takes a deep breath, and decides he should confess a little to Punk too.

"You know... I mean, I'm not gay, _but_ I do appreciate a beautiful man." Steve smiles, and goes to tend the soup. He grabs two bowls from the cupboard, and behind him Punk laughs softly.

"Everyone can appreciate a good-looking person, regardless of their gender." Punk quietly thanks Steve when a bowl of soup and spoon are set down in front of him.

"I appreciate it more than most folk, Punk." Steve smiles awkwardly, and Punk's eyes widen.

"You're bi? Really? _You_?" He sounds amazed, and Steve nods slightly. Punk's mouth falls open for a moment, before he snaps it shut almost comically. "You're _literally_ the last person I would have pegged for being bi." He admits quietly, and Steve shrugs.

"It's not something I advertise, and really I've not had too much experience with men... I met my wife, and we were married pretty quickly. Then on the force it never really seemed like a good idea to advertise it." Steve smiles wryly, and Punk nods.

"Yeah... I can imagine that wouldn't have gone down too well... Were you still in Texas then?" He starts eating, and his eyes fall closed. "Oh god... _Steve_! This is amazing!" He takes another spoonful of soup, his expression almost blissful.

"I'm glad you like it." Steve grins, and truly means the sentiment. He's very happy Punk likes the soup, if only because it confirms that Steve's Grandma's chicken noodle soup recipe is the best in the World. "I was in Texas until after the divorce was finalised. My old boss suggested I move away, make a new start, and so I came up here."

"Chicago's about as far from Texas as you can get, I guess." Punk manages around a mouthful of soup. "Do you like it?"

"It's nice enough... The Winters are taking some getting used to though." Steve admits sheepishly, and Punk nods.

"Nothing like a Chicago Winter to make you appreciate the Summer." He grins. "I'm guessing in Texas you didn't get much chance to explore the male side of your sexuality... How about here?"

"One or two dates... Nothing much came of anything... When it comes to men, I've a particular taste, and finding one that fits that profile is... Well, it's not easy." Steve can't quite bring himself to look at Punk while he talks, so he focusses on his soup.

"Oh? What kind of guys do you like? I can maybe find you someone to take out one time." There's an odd tone in Punk's voice, at once hopeful, and resigned. Steve looks up at him, and smiles.

"It's not so much about the outside, Punk... It's the inside that matters." Punk laughs at the comment, and shakes his head.

"C'mon, Steve! You mean to tell me I could fix you up with a five hundred pound lard bucket, and you'd still like them if they had a nice personality?" He laughs, and then his laughing is interrupted by a cough.

"Nice is fine, but I like... It's hard to put into words, I know what I like, and I know it when I see it." Punk looks up at that, and Steve's transfixed by him. A smile slowly spreads over Punk's lips, and he nods.

"Ill take you out on the hunt some time." He mutters softly, and Steve nods, returning to eating. After eating they retire to the den, the big flat-screen playing the hockey game, Punk sitting just a little bit too close the whole night. Not that Steve's complaining, but their legs are almost pressed together, and the couch is plenty big enough for there to be a good foot of space between them. Punk leaves shortly after the game, and Steve spends the rest of the night curled up on the couch daydreaming about how nice it would be to have Punk around permanently.

The next night, Punk agrees to come over to Steve's again. They watch another game, and once more they sit _slightly_ too close on this couch. This time though Punk's illness seems to have gotten worse, and he falls asleep at half-time. Steve doesn't have the heart to wake him up. Instead, he takes the comforter from the spare bedroom, and drapes it over Punk's sleeping body.

"I am _so_ sorry." Punk's embarrassed, and slightly muffled voice is the first noise Steve hears the next morning. Steve shakes his head with a laugh, and gestures to the breakfast table. There's a bowl of hot oatmeal, and a mug of coffee waiting for Punk there.

"Nothing to worry about, Punk." Steve sits, and starts eating. Punk looks slightly embarrassed still, but he does start eating. "Did you sleep okay? The couch is pretty comfy." Steve grins, and Punk ducks his head, his ears burning red.

"I really don't remember... I swear, this cold is the worst." He grumbles, and rubs at his temples.

"You should take the day off... You're too sick to be much use to anyone, Punkster." Steve manages to keep the urge to reach across the table, and take Punk's hands in check.

"Too close to the Holidays." Punk grumbles, and he starts coughing. "Do you have any plans?" He changes the subject clumsily, but Steve can't blame him, it's clearly not a topic he wants to dwell on.

"Nothing. I don't have kids, and my family are back in Texas." Steve thinks that probably sounds pretty pathetic, but Punk's grinning widely.

"Come to mine!" He's positively beaming at Steve, a determined look in his eyes. "Colt's Jewish, and I don't celebrate Christmas. We can have a gloriously lazy day of watching TV, and eating too much food." Steve very briefly considers Punk's offer before nodding.

"I reckon that'd be much better than spending it on my own again this year. You sure your room-mate won't mind?" Steve downs the last of his coffee, and takes the now empty dishes from the table, leaving them in the sink.

"You like Chinese food and Comedy Central?" Punk asks, his voice is much closer than Steve had expected, but Punk is standing right behind him now.

"I've not objections to either." Steve mutters. Punk's reflection, visible in the kitchen window beams at him, and Steve avoids thinking about how much he likes having Punk there in the morning.

"Then Colt will have none to you." Punk claps Steve on the shoulder, and leaves the kitchen. "I better get my ass home." He calls, and Steve watches him from the kitchen doorway. He's pulling his shoes, and coat on again. "I've a back shift tonight, so I can't steal more soup..."

"Was that a hint?" Steve laughs, and Punk blushes slightly. "I'll put some in a box for you." He quickly fishes a tupperware box out of one of the cupboards, and ladles it full of soup, bringing it to Punk. "Get some rest before your shift, okay? Do you want a ride home this time?" Steve resists the temptation to press a kiss to Punk's grateful smile. It's incredibly tempting, but not exactly appropriate.

"I've got a ride coming." As Punk speaks, a car horn sounds outside. "That'll be them now." He hands Steve a piece of paper. "My address... Send me a message before you come over, and I'll make sure I'm decent." Punk blushes brilliantly, and Steve thinks he is too, his cheeks feel decidedly hot.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Punkster." Punk blushes at that even more, and Steve opens the front door, grateful for the blast of cold air from the apartment building's stairwell.

"Bring more soup." Punk calls out as he hurries down the stairs.

The rest of the day passes in a bit of a blur for Steve. He's not entirely sure what to make of his situation with Punk. He's not certain if Punk is interested in him, or if it's wishful thinking on his part. Punk's a young man, far younger than Steve, and with infinitely less baggage than him, but he does blush a lot more than a fully grown man should around Steve. Wishful thinking, or fact, Steve isn't sure.

That night he dreams of Punk. He dreams of the younger man naked, and in Steve's bed. The room pitch black, and the only way to see anything is with the dull light of a lamp that's switched on. Punk's body is beautiful, lithe and soft, strong but delicate. His face is slightly flushed, and his lips are set in a sensuous smile. His eyes seem to almost glow in the dim light, the lamplight picking out the green in them, making it brighter, which is exactly how Steve knows it's a dream, lights don't work that way. Dream Punk reaches for him, his hands soft as they skim over the bare skin of Steve's back. He leans forward, his arms around Steve's shoulders, and Steve slips an arm around his waist, pulling him up, and closer. The first tentative press of their lips is electric, the second just as exciting, by the third, Steve slips his tongue over the crease of Punk's mouth, asking for and receiving permission to enter. His dream isn't vivid enough to give Punk a taste, but the warm wet slide of his tongue against Steve's is more than enough to leave him lying awake in bed, a half-hard erection in his pants, and a stupid grin on his face.

He calls Punk before he leaves to head to Punk's place, and gets a request to grab some Chinese food on the way. Punk promises to pay, but Steve insists that it can be Punk's Christmas present. He grabs the requested dishes quickly, getting a half-hearted _happy Christmas_ from the server, who had seemed more interested in the Chinese soap opera she was watching on her phone than anything else. Punk's apartment turns out to be in a slightly nicer part of town. He parks in the one available space, and has to walk the rest of the way there. There's people out playing in the snow, kids mostly, throwing snowballs at each other, and seeming to have a good time. A few of the adults wish Steve a _merry Christmas_ , which he returns, trying to spot which building is Punk's. Outside the one Steve thinks is right, is a man bundled up against the cold, and an ugly little dog, it's ears huge, with a pronounced under-bite.

"Dude, Larry... _Please_ just do your business... I know I said I wanted to get us outta the house so your dad could be crazy on his own, but it's freezing, man." The man seems engrossed in his one-sided conversation. The little dog ignoring him in favour of bounding through snowdrifts, what appears to be a doggy smile on it's face.

"Uh... Excuse me." Steve approaches the man, and the little dog comes over quickly, positioning itself between Steve and what he assumes is it's owner.

"Stand down, Soldier." The man mutters to the little dog, and scoops it up. "This one's a friendly. You must be Steve." The man holds a hand out, and the little dog looks at Steve distrustfully. Steve takes the man's hand and shakes it.

"I'm going to guess you're Punk's room-mate, uh..." Steve trails off, not to sure what the man's name is.

"Call me Colt... So you're the one he was having a sleepover with, huh?" Colt grins, and Steve blushes slightly. The little dog wriggles in Colt's arms, and he sets it down on it's feet. "Larry can be... Bitey if you're not careful." Colt smiles awkwardly. "Though the same could be said for your daddy, isn't that right little dude?" The dog glances up at Colt, and then starts sniffing at the bag in Steve's hand.

"This is gonna get cold..." Steve raises the bag, and Colt nods.

"Go on up, Punkers is in... I'm waiting for this monster to have a pee." He waves a hand at the dog, getting another quick glance from him.

"Well, I'll see you upstairs." Steve smiles at Colt, and crouches down, holding his hand out the dog. It comes up, and sniffs at Steve's fingers. He apparently decides he doesn't mind Steve, because when Steve starts scratching just above the little dog's tail, it starts waggling. "Hurry, and go to the bathroom, your friend's cold." Steve tells the little dog, and stands. It looks up at him resentfully, and then huffs, trotting off to play in the snow some more.

"He's a contrary brat... Again like his daddy." Colt laughs, and turns his attention to the dog. Steve laughs, and heads into the building.

When he gets to the right apartment he knocks on the door, and it's opened by a harried looking Punk.

"Steve!" He sounds slightly breathless, his cheeks flushed, his hair sticking up in a million directions, like he'd run his hands through it repeatedly, or just woken up. The apartment is utterly spotless, and Steve supposes that this is the being crazy Colt was talking about.

"I met your room-mate, and your dog." Steve holds the bag of takeaway out, and Punk grins at him.

"They're nice, aren't they? I mean Larry more than Colt, but they're both nice." Punk grins, and beckons Steve in. "I was cleaning... And I'm sorry I look a mess, I just got out the shower..." Punk wanders into the kitchen, and grabs some plates. Steve sets the takeaway bag down, and starts taking containers out of it. "You went to the place on the corner?" Punk asks suddenly.

"Should I not have? It was on the way..." Steve trails off, and Punk laughs softly.

"They know our order by heart... MeiMei always throws in extras for us. Sweet lady..." Punk opens the containers, and starts plating up. He hands a couple of plates to Steve. "Can you set these on the table in the living room?" Steve takes the plates, and sets them down, just as Colt and the dog return.

"I swear... Your dog hates me." Colt calls, and from the kitchen Punk laughs.

"Find something to watch!" He shouts back, and Steve returns to the kitchen, taking another pair of plates, and carrying them back to the living room, where Colt has taken a seat on the couch, Larry curled up in his lap.

"For a dog that hates you, he sure seems comfy." Steve laughs, and Colt shrugs.

"He's capricious, just like his da-"

"I am not capricious! I'm entirely reasonable. Don't listen to him, Steve." Punk appears with two more plates. "I swear MeiMei is trying to kill us... There's no way we're gonna eat all of this." Punk glances down at the table.

"We'll manage." Steve grins, and Colt nods.

"Definitely."

They spend the day eating, watching comedy specials, and getting along surprisingly well. Steve doesn't often socialise anymore. Alcohol had been his social lubricant, and now that he's sober, he's not as sure of himself, but he'd been incredibly comfortable joking with Punk and his room-mate. Larry had decided he liked Steve, and after about an hour of Steve being there, the little dog had wandered over to Steve's lap, and curled up happily. Punk had looked delighted with that, and had seemed to take it as permission to move even closer to Steve, pressing up against his side under the guise of petting his dog. After two hours, Steve had rested his arm on the back of the couch, about ten minutes later, Punk had pulled it down around his shoulders, and turned to Steve with hopeful concern in his eyes. Steve had offered him a smile. He wanted to press a kiss to Punk's lips, but he thought that would be too bold, so he'd ruffled Punk's hair instead. Colt had cleared his throat, and Steve had been forcefully reminded of Punk's friend's presence. At some stage in the afternoon, some of Colt's friends had shown up, and proven themselves to incredibly entertaining. If anyone had a problem with Punk and Steve sitting cuddled up, no one said anything. It'd been the best Christmas Steve's had in years, but as it got later, he realised it would soon have to end.

"I should get home, Punkster." Steve says maybe an hour after Colt's gone to bed. Punk turns to look at him, a blush on his cheeks, and a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

"I'm sorry I've been so clingy." He mumbles, looking down. "I just... I..." He sighs, and Steve tilts his face up.

"You asked me what kind of men I like, you remember?" Steve doesn't withdraw his hand, even though he knows he should. "And I said the outside didn't matter, what was inside did... Punk, we've been talking to each other almost every day since I started working at the store... I like what's inside you." Punk blushes brilliantly, and then grins at Steve.

"I know what I'd like inside me." He laughs dirtily.

"I'm not sleeping! No fucking!" Colt shouts from his bedroom, and Punk turns scarlet.

"I'll see you out, Steve." Punk slips out from Steve's embrace, and stands.

"I think your son will be unhappy at being moved." Steve mutters, carefully picking Larry up, and setting the little dog down on the floor. The first thing he does is stretch, and then trot towards Colt's bedroom door, that he scratches at pitifully until Colt opens it, and lets the little dog into the room. "He's his mother?" Steve asks.

"Uncle! I'm Uncle Colt!" Colt calls out, and both Steve and Punk start laughing.

"C'mon show me where your door is, Punkster." Steve carefully reaches for Pun's hand, beaming delightedly when Punk allows him to take it.

"I never paid you for the Chinese food." Punk says once they get to the door. Steve shakes his head, and smiles.

"I said I'd pay for it. Think of it as a Christmas present." Steve wonders if Punk would let him kiss him. He's made a joke about sex, but that might just be Punk's naturally crass sense of humour.

"Then I'll have to give you a present too." Punk steps closer. His arms coming up to wrap around Steve's shoulders. He smiles slightly at Steve, a little nervousness in his eyes. Steve wraps his arms around Punk's waist pulling him close. Punk leans forward, pressing their lips together. As in Steve's dream the touch is electric, but Steve doesn't let Punk break it, he laps at Punk's lips. Punk parts his lips, and kisses Steve back with fervour. "Merry Christmas, Steve." Punk breaths as he breaks the kiss. "Bring me soup for lunch tomorrow?" He asks, and Steve nods. "Oh... And I apologise if I just gave you my hell cold." Steve laughs, and kisses Punk again.

"If you did, I look forward to trying to give it back to you." Steve laughs, and Punk flushes red.

"Oh my god! You're not in high school!" Colt shouts, and Steve laughs again. "I've work at seven tomorrow, and we all know you're not going to fuck tonight! Punk's still sick, and you sir, based on your performance today, are a proper Southern Gentleman! So say goodnight, and let me sleep! Jesus! I swear Larry... You're the only reasonable person I know!"

"He makes a point..." Steve smiles, and kisses Punk once more. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, Steve. G'night." Punk smiles softly, and pecks Steve's cheek. "Remember my soup."

"Goodnight, Punkster. Merry Christmas" Steve leans in for a quick kiss, and he smiles slightly as he leaves, feeling full of the Christmas spirit, and a little of the sniffles.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, Sub-Pion, and Shadowgrneyes.**

 _Twelfth_ _we have **Common Cold by Hawksley Workmen**_ , as pairing requested by **Brokenspell77**.

 _ _ **As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!**__

 _ _ **Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.**__


	13. Santa Baby

_Warnings: Beauty and the Beast continuity, Slash (Brock Lesnar/Seth Rollins), Smut, Fluff._

* * *

Seth glares at the TV as he gives up trying to watch the DVR of Raw. There's a heavy scowl on his lips expressing his displeasure with what he just watched. He's far happy with that snow white rooster holding his Championship Title, in short he's annoyed, and he's _annoyed_ for many reasons; his injury, the idiot currently Champion, the fact that his brothers, not _brothers,_ Ambrose and Reigns had fought so valiantly against each other for nothing. He knows that they'll manage to get themselves back in position to be fighting for Seth's Championship again before it's returned to where it belongs, around Seth's waist. The Irish idiot can keep it for now, but sooner rather than later, it's going to be with someone else, and then Seth's going to claim it back.

Now though, all Seth can do is heal. He resents being injured, and he wishes that he wasn't, but he is. Healing, and rehabbing are the most boring, but necessary parts of an injury. The waiting, the long tedious waiting bores him more than Seth can fully say. He hates being stuck on his couch. He hates not being able to train. He hates not being able to fight. He hates it almost as much as he hates not being Champion. At least he can say that he was never pinned for his title. He lost it to himself. His injury beat him, not anyone else.

Seth had been dozing on the couch when the sound of someone opening his front door wakes him up. The list of people with a key to his apartment is short. One to each of his former allies that he'd never asked for back. It seemed petty to ask, and he trusts them enough to not attack him at home. You can say what you like about them in the ring, they do at least follow something of a code of honour. Honour and justice had been the first thing they'd all agreed on. The very founding principles of The Shield had been justice, and if he's honest maybe quiet whisperings from Heyman, and _He Who Must Not Be Named_. He remembers the day they both came down to NXT. Heyman bright-eyed and bushy tailed, _He Who Must Not Be Named_ all calm calculation, and mild disinterest. He remembers Ambrose slinking up, talking to _He Who Must Not Be Named_ , his expression hopeful. _He Who Must Not Be Named_ had smiled slightly at Ambrose, and waved Seth over, talking about injustice on the main roster. Heyman had chimed in, and somehow Reigns had drifted over. It was all very low-key, all very cloak and dagger. The other person who has a key is more likely to visit than Ambrose and Reigns.

"You awake, Baby?" Brock's voice is quiet, if Seth had been asleep, he'd have stayed that way, as it is he's awake, and he forces himself into an upright position, grinning when Brock enters the living room.

"Hello!" Seth beams at him, grateful for some human company at last.

"I thought you might be sleeping." Brock mutters, and he comes over to kiss Seth gently. Seth smiles up at him slightly dazed, and far too happy when he pulls away.

"You here to keep me company?" He asks, shifting on the couch to try and makes space for Brock.

"Yeah, I need to dump my stuff, wait a minute." Brock makes a trip to the kitchen first, then he heads towards the bedroom. It doesn't take long for him to be back with Seth. Brock picks him up easily, and settles on the couch, letting Seth arrange himself on top of Brock. They watch TV in companionable silence, Seth stroking the skin of the thickly muscled arms wrapped around him.

"Baby?" Brock says softly after a while, glancing down at Seth. Seth grins up at him, and leans in to claim a kiss. "You're still pretty hurt, right?" Seth nods slightly. He's definitely too hurt for the stress on his body, that sex with Brock would cause.

"Yeah... I'm sorry." Seth smiles awkward, and Brock shakes his head. He carefully slips out from under Seth, and stands.

"Why are you sorry? Did you intentionally injury yourself?" Brock laughs, and Seth rolls his eyes.

"I'm sorry because my little beast has to be thinking that I'm ignoring him, and there's not much I can do abut it." Seth laughs at the blush that spreads over Brock's cheeks.

"I wish you wouldn't talking to my dick like that." He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "I swear it's almost like you try to disassociate me from it." He smirks at Seth, and Seth knows he must being pulling some kind of stupidly impressed face.

"I'm not, but seriously, it feels wrong to not acknowledge how impressive that cock of your's is." Seth laughs, and Brock rolls his eyes.

"I'm making you food." He turns for the kitchen, and Seth struggles to sit up. "Stay there!" Brock snaps lightly. "I brought you sick people food from home... I didn't trust you to have real food in, Baby."

"I have real food." Seth calls, and Brock's laugh fills the small apartment.

"KillCliff and protein bars don't count as real food." He calls back, and Seth can feel a pout forming on his face. "Why don't you pick something to watch, Baby?" Seth grabs the remote, and starts flicking through the channels, trying to find something worth watching.

"It's all Christmas stuff..." Seth mutters to himself, and spares a quick glance around his distinctly un-festive home.

"Well, despite what your house would suggest, it is Christmas." Brock appears with two bowls of soup, and sets them down on the coffee table. "Wait, it's hot, and I've some crackers to go with it." Seth laughs at the slightly motherly tone Brock just spoke in. He goes back to the kitchen, and returns quickly with a plate of crackers for the soup. "Will you be able to reach, or do you want me to hand it to you?" Brock perches on the edge of the sofa, and looks slightly concerned as he watches Seth carefully.

"I'll be fine... It's a busted knee, not exactly life threatening." Seth laughs, and carefully scoots forward to reach his soup. "And, before you say anything, I know it's hot." Seth laughs once more, and Brock shakes his head, starting to eat. Once they're both finished Brock takes the dirty dishes to the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and starting the machine. He settles underneath Seth once more, seemingly content to watch whatever garbage movie Seth stopped channel-surfing on. Seth isn't paying attention to the TV, he's more interested in enjoying the feeling of Brock's arms around him. He's not seen Brock for a lot longer than he's happy about, but his annoyance with him fades in the feeling of Brock's solid body beneath him, and his hands absently petting Seth's bare chest. Brock's hands slip lower, and lower as they watch the movie, his fingers tracing Seth's defined abs, then dipping under the waistband of Seth's pyjamas. His massive hand cradles Seth's cock and balls easily. Seth squirms slightly, and glances up at Brock.

"What?" He smiles innocently, and Seth shakes his head, turning his attention back to the TV. Brock's fingers tease his balls for a little longer, then he removes his hand entirely. He raises it to his mouth, and licks his palm, slipping it into Seth's pants once more. This time Brock starts jacking Seth in earnest, his large palm rubbing over the head of Seth's cock every so often. "Take your pants off, Baby." It's a soft request, given gently, and directly into Seth's ear. The warmth of Brock's voice sends a shiver through Seth. With some wriggling, Seth manages to get out of his pants, and Brock kisses the side of his head. "You want me to name your cock?" He asks suddenly, and Seth laughs breathily.

"I think I can live without that." He chuckles, and Brock kisses his head once more.

"I can't think of a name that'd suit it, to be honest." He moves his hand slowly, his strokes firm, sure, and excruciatingly slow. He keeps this up until Seth starts trying to buck his hips, then Brock speeds up slightly, his hand moving a little faster. Seth moans quietly, and Brock chuckles, the sound deep and rich. Brock starts stroking Seth's chest with the hand not wrapped around his dick, his fingers pinching at Seth's nipples absently.

"Faster." Seth pants, his hips once more bucking. Brock obliges him, moving his hand faster. The hand on Seth's chest creeps lower, and starts fondling his balls, then lower still, rubbing over his taint. Seth bucks his hips once more, and Brock seems to take the hint, his finger pressing at Seth's asshole. "Gimme that finger." Seth moans, and Brock chuckles once more. He raises his free hand to Seth's lips, letting Seth suckle on the first two of Brock's fingers. After a short while, he's once more probing at Seth's asshole with his now damp fingers. One manages to sink into Seth's body, making him call out softly. Brock speeds up the hand on Seth's dick without prompting, bringing Seth closer, and closer to the edge, finally sending him over it with a typically brain-breaking orgasm, that leaves Seth, grinning like a fool. He smiles at Brock, getting a sweetly amused smiled in return.

"I wanna speak to my little beast." Seth says softly, his chest still heaving from the orgasm Brock had just given him. "My leg's busted, not my hands." Seth laughs at the slight look of worry on Brock's face. He stands, pulls his pants and underwear down in one motion, stepping out of them, and comes closer to Seth, his cock already hard. "Hello little monster." Seth wraps his hand around Brock's impressive length. He leans forward, and laps at the little bead of pre-cum that's formed at the tip. He takes another lick for good measure, meeting Brock's eyes as he starts slowly stroking his cock. Brock breaks eye contact to glance at the couch, and Seth nods slightly. He moves across, clearing a place for Brock to sit down.

"Thank you, Baby." He leans down and kisses Seth thoroughly. "I don't think I'd be able to stay on my feet with your pretty little mouth there." He runs a thumb over Seth's bottom lip. Seth grins, and wraps his hand around Brock's cock once more. He moves his hand slowly, and considers how to lie on the couch so he can jack Brock's cock, and suckle on the head at the same time. He eventually works something out, and shifts, taking the head in his mouth, or at least as much of the head as he can. Brock's dick is substantial, and whilst Seth's often accused of having a big mouth, it's not big enough for Brock's little beast. He dabs his tongue into the slit at the top of Brock's cock, his hands working the shaft, or caressing Brock's large, low-hanging balls. One of Brock's hands carefully cradles the back of Seth's head, his fingers moving slightly in comforting little movements. Slowly Seth begins to build up speed with his hands, his mouth managing to take the entirety of Brock's cock head after a little while. He doesn't let Brock pull away when he's close to orgasm, instead Seth clings to his thighs, keeping Brock's cock firmly in place. He comes loudly, saying nothing in particular, but making plenty of noise about it. When he's come, Brock lies there panting, and Seth grins up at him

"I think we've been reacquainted pretty well." Seth laughs, and Brock shakes his head with a laugh, drawing Seth close to his side once more, and starting to watch the TV again.

"So do you want my help to decorate for Christmas?" Brock asks after a little, and Seth laughs, shaking his head.

"I don't decorate for Christmas, Brock... It's too much hassle, and seriously, there's only us here, what's the point?" Seth rolls his eyes, and smiles up a Brock.

"It's... _Nice_." He mutters. Brock looks slightly dejected, and Seth feels guilty. He hadn't realised how much Christmas meant to Brock.

"I don't have anything to decorate with." Seth adds apologetically. Brock shakes his head and smiles.

"Not everyone celebrates it, I guess." He smiles, and Seth nods, snuggling up to Brock once more.

"Maybe if you wish for it hard enough, Santa'll bring you a tree." Seth chuckles, and Brock lightly taps his nose, quietly muttering _brat_ at Seth.

The next morning Seth's woken up by the smell of bacon, and the sounds of Christmas songs. He manages to hobble out of his bedroom, and into the living room. When he enters he wonders how long Brock's been awake, and just how he managed to do this. Seth's living room is an explosion of Christmas. There's a tall tree in one corner, covered tastefully in decorations, and delicate little lights. Seth moves into the kitchen, and is greeted by the sight of Brock cooking, a Santa hat perched precariously on his head.

"You seem full of the festive spirit." Seth mutters, and Brock turns to him with a grin. He comes closer, and picks Seth up easily. He walks under the doorway, and Seth has a moment to look up to spot the mistletoe pinned up there, before Brock kisses him passionately. "I see Santa did bring you your tree." Seth smiles once he's been set down on the couch by Brock.

"I guess I wished hard enough..." Brock smirks, and goes into the kitchen, coming back with a stack of pancakes, and a plate covered with bacon. "Eat up, Baby." Brock's smirk takes a leering quality, and he sits beside Seth, his arm wrapping around Seth's shoulders, drawing him close. "My wishing isn't the only thing that's hard."

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Shadowgrneyes, Brokenspell77, VKxXx92, and Kat.**

 _Thirteenth we have **Santa Baby**_ , as pairing requested by **Rebellecherry** _a looooooooooooog time ago_.

 _ _ **As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christms present of a review!**__

 _ _ **Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.**__


	14. Mistletoe and Wine

_Warnings: Slash (Chris Jericho/Christian), Smut, Fluff_

* * *

The snow pattered to the ground slowly, his breath coming out in thick, white puffs. The sky is just as thick with clouds. It's utterly tranquil. A soft, silent world with nothing to disturb it. Just him, the snow covered trees, and nothing else. It's a nice escape from the normal routine of his life. There's no pressure, no screaming fans, no pushy agents, no squabbling band mates, _nothing_. It's charming, and delightful, and utterly, completely boring. He'd partially expected to get bored out here, but he'd needed to get away. He loves this quiet downtime, but he'd known that eventually he'd miss humanity. The boredom, and loneliness have seeped in far quicker than he was expecting, but he supposes that's his own fault. He's the one who'd decided to get a couple of podcasts in the bank, and release them whilst he went on his winter retreat. He'd anticipated a week of rest, relaxation, and writing. Instead he's had a few days of being annoyed that the water in the toilet bowl keeps freezing, his internet is slow, the Wi-Fi doesn't work, and he's already sick of beans. He can't complain about the scenery though. The woods are beautiful, the occasional animals he spots are adorable, and hiking through the snow drifts is surprisingly good exercise. He just wishes he'd invited someone up with him, one specific person more than anyone else, but at this stage, Chris would take _anyone's_ company.

"Boo!" A snowball smacks him in the face almost before the words register. He scrubs at his now even colder face, and glares around him, looking for the source of the snowball, and the voice. Another snowball collides with the back of his head, sending snow under his scarf. Chris stoops, and makes a snowball of his own, spinning around to where he thinks his assailant is hiding, but another snowball smacks his back. A loud, gleeful peal of laughter sounds. "You ain't gonna even try, man?" The voice laughs, this time Chris waits, turning slowly around, trying to spot anything that might away his enemy's position. A tree rustles to his left, and Chris throws quickly, an indignant squawk sounds, and from the trees his opponent emerges.

"When, and _how_ did you get here?" Chris laughs, and the figure that comes bounding out. A grin on their face as they barrel into Chris, and knock him on his butt.

"Flew, then hiked like a mile." The man straddling Chris grin, and grabs a handful of snow. He starts forming a ball, and then starts rolling it around in the snow beside them. "Got here like twenty minutes ago. Why did you lock the door? It's not like there's anyone to rob you out here." He leans down, and presses a quick kiss to Chris' lips. "Wanna build a snowman?" He gets up, and offers a hand to Chris, that he ignores in favour of making a snow-angel. Once he's satisfied with his handiwork, Chris holds his hands out.

" _Christian_... Pull me up." He whines, and Christian grabs his hands, pulling Chris to his feet.

"So... Snowman?" Christian asks, his grin still firmly in place. Chris nods, and starts making his own snowball. "How's your self-imposed exile going?" Christian calls, as he pushes his now quite substantial snowball around, gathering more snow as it goes.

"Uh... I'm glad you're here." Chris admits with wry smile.

"Oh?" Christian rolls his snowball closer, and starts anchoring it in place with some loose snow. "Whys that? As I recall this was supposed to recharge your batteries, and inspire you... You mean to tell me that a social butterfly like you got bored in the middle of nowhere on your own?" Christian laughs, and Chris throws a snowball at him. Christian smirks at him, but doesn't return the assault. "I knew it. That's why I cleared my busy schedule to come keep you company." He smiles like a martyr. "C'mere with my middle." He waves Chris over. Chris rolls the snowball closer, and Christian hefts it into place. "Make me my head, while I look for sticks. You got a spare scarf?"

"In the cabin." Chris mutters, forming the snowball for the head. "How big do you want this?" Chris calls out, but Christian's already trying to choose tree branches for his snowman's arms. "Smaller than the middle one, I guess." Chris rolls the ball until he thinks it's big enough.

"You gonna be able to get it up there?" Christian asks, his voice heavy with amusement as he watches Chris struggling with the snowball. "You need some help getting it up?" There's an innuendo in Christian's tone, but Chris elects to ignore it, and keeps trying to put the snowball in place. "Here, lemme help." Christian grabs the other side of the ball, and easily places it on top of the body.

"I'll grab that scarf... I think there's some spare coal, and a carrot too. I'll be back." Chris leaves Christian to fuss over the snowman, and clumps towards the cabin he's been staying in. Once he's at the door, he spots Christian's bag left carelessly by the door. He hefts it up, and carries it into the cabin. He toes off his boots, and starts hunting out the last necessary items for their snowman.

"You get everything?" Christian shouts over when Chris emerges from the cabin.

"Yup!" Chris bounds over to him, and tackles Christian into the snow, kissing him fiercely, and then shoving a handful of snow in his face. "Consider than retribution." Chris laughs as he gets up. Christian smirks at him, and stands, shaking his head like a dog.

"Vengeance will come for you, but not until our masterpiece is complete." Christian laughs darkly, and Chris picks up the carrot he'd dropped in his flying tackle. Christian starts winding the scarf around the snowman's neck, and then begins fussing with the coal, trying to position it perfectly. It takes him a long time to be satisfied, but when he is, he takes a step back with a proud look on his face. "We make beautiful babies." He grins over at Chris.

"Pose with our son, and I'll take a picture." Chris waves Christian into position, and pulls his phone from his pocket. Christian poses with expected ridiculousness, but Chris can't resent it, Christian is nothing if not adorable in his stupidity. "Here, take a look." Chris waves his phone at Christian, and the other man comes over to take a look at it.

"Looks good." He grins, and Chris nods. "C'mon, I brought some wine we can use to warm us up." He grins, and catches Chris' hand, dragging him back towards the cabin.

When they enter, Christian starts warming the wine up in a pot on the stove, adding some spices to it. Chris fusses over the fire, stoking it, and then fetches a bag of marshmallows from one of the cupboards in the kitchen. It doesn't take long for them to move into the living room to enjoy the cosy little scene they've created.

The fire is roaring, the mulled wine is delicious, the scent of roasting marshmallows is clinging to the air, Christian's snuggled up to his side, and everything seems perfect. Chris presses a quick kiss to the side of Christian's head, not fighting the slightly smug smile that spreads over his lips.

"This is nice." Christian mutters, his voice is soft, and sleepy. "I've not had a chance to have a day off in ages, being retired is surprisingly tiring." He snuggles a little closer, and Chris tightens his arm around his shoulders. "It's nice to be working for a change." Chris kisses his hair, and squeezes his shoulders.

"You tired?" Chris asks, and Christian nods vaguely. "You overworked?"

"Ha... Hmm, not really... Underworked maybe..." Christian mutters, and rests his head on Chris' shoulder. "I'm just sleepy." He turns slightly, and smiles at Chris.

"Have a nap then." Chris suggests, and Christian closes his eyes.

"If I sleep, I'll spill this all over you." Christian laughs, and takes another sip of his wine. "You want another marshmallow?" He sits up a little.

"Go on then." Chris takes his arm from around Christian's shoulders, letting him move to start roasting another marshmallow on the fire. Christian hands the roasted marshmallow up to Chris, and starts roasting another one for himself. Once it's toasted, Christian starts nibbling on it. Chris sits eating his marshmallow, watching the flames, and finished off his wine. Christian holds his empty cup up, and Chris takes it, and sets it on the table by the couch where his own is sitting. He tosses his stick into the fire, and settles back, his fingers running through Christian's hair.

"Hey..." Christian glances up at Chris, a lazy smile on his face. "I brought lube." He pulls a bottle from his pocket, and Chris rolls his eyes.

"Honestly... You're so romantic." Chris laughs, and tries to pulls Christian up from his spot on the rug.

"I'm plenty romantic!" Christian protests. "There's a roaring fire, a nice rug, and some lube, what more do you want?"

"You're a master of seduction." Chris gets off the couch, and settles down beside Christian on the rug. Christian reaches over to him, his hand cupping Chris' cheek. He leans forward, and places a tender kiss to Chris' lips. His other hand gently strokes up Chris' arm, then his fingers tangle in Chris' hair for a moment, then they trail down his chest. The kiss continues as Christian presses Chris back against the rug. When Christian pulls away, his fingers linger over Chris' cheek, then they lightly trail over Chris' lips. The hand moving over Chris' chest slips under Chris' shirt, squeezing his muscles, and then trailing down to his stomach, then toying with the waistband of Chris' pants. He kisses Chris again, deep and slow. He breaks the kiss with a soft smile, his nose brushing over Chris'

"That better?" He grins, and Chris smiles up at him. He reaches up, and wraps a hand around the back of Christian's neck, pulling him down for another kiss. He carefully switches their positions, pinning Christian on his back. Christian's hands wrap around Chris' waist, then down to his butt, and he starts massaging the firm cheeks of Chris' ass.

"That's a little better." Chris concedes, and grins down at him. "Gimme that lube." He pulls his sweater off, and watches as Christian squirms out form under him, to start stripping as well, their clothes forming a little pile near the table. Chris presses Christian back down, and starts kissing him once more, their hands caressing each other's naked bodies.

"You topping?" Christian mutters between kisses, and Chris nods absently. He's pretty versatile, but he prefers to top in all honesty. Christian generally doesn't mind too much either way, and is happy top or bottom. "Don't forget to wrap my Christmas present." He laughs, and leans over to pull a condom out of his pants pocket. He tosses it to Chris, and licks his lips as Chris rolls it down his length. Whilst watching, Christian has started stretching his hole, his fingers diving in and out of his ass. Once his cock is sheathed, Chris takes over, and quickly preps his lover. When he's finished, he buries his cock inside Christian's ass in one slow thrust. He stays still for a moment, then starts withdrawing, his hand wrapping around Christian's cock. "I've got hands." His words half lost to a moan. Chris chuckles, and withdraws his hand, letting Christian take control of his own dick. Chris speeds up his thrust quickly, rocking his hips back, and forth faster, and faster, until Christian has difficulty in keeping up. He moans with almost every penetration of his body, his legs wrapping around Chris' waist. When he's close, Chris pulls out of Christian, and tugs the condom off, finishing by rapid jacking himself off, his cum landing on Christian's stomach. He comes shortly after, his semen mixing with Chris' on his abs. Chris flops down onto the rug beside him, and grins.

"You like your Christmas present?" He laughs, and Christian turns to him with a pout.

"I didn't get to unwrap it, so it doesn't count as mine." He's trying to hide his grin, but he's failing miserably.

"Maybe I'll let you unwrap it later." Chris chuckles, and Christian snuggles up to him, smothering a yawn against Chris' shoulder.

"Maybe, but first I'm having a nap." He smiles slightly, and closes his eyes. Chris nods, and finds himself drifting off too.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Rebellecherry, ajlette, and Ms. NoGimmicksNeeded.**

 _Thirteenth we have **Mistletoe and Wine**_ , as pairing requested by **Sub-Pion**.

 _ _ **As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!**__

 _ _ **Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.**__


	15. Wrapped in Red

_Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/Finn Bálor), Fluff, Mentions of Addiction._

* * *

His life had taken several bad turns over the years. His childhood hadn't been idyllic, his adult life had been chaotic and unpleasant for the most part. He's drifted from job to job, city to city, lover to lover. There's only ever been one constant, and that's drugs. The hazy comfort offered by heroin, the chattering high of cocaine, the exuberant buzz of ecstasy, the hyperactive glee of speed, the mellow calm of weed. Drugs had _always been_ there for him. At least until three years ago. Three years ago he'd be thrown into State mandated rehab. He'd struggled, and fought against it. He'd hated the idea of trying to work out how to _deal_ with the world. Drugs were the translator, the interpretor that he trusted the most, and this program was intent on taking them away from him. He didn't want go through it, but he knew that he had to, so he endured, dreaming of his first hit when he was released, but something had happened in the program.

He'd met his sponsor. He'd not really understood the point of the sponsoring bullshit, but when a smiling young man with a thick, but soft, Irish accent had come in, and sat down in front of him, the point seemed less important. He'd introduced himself as Finn, and had spoken gently about losing friends to drugs, about how despite having never _really_ tried them, he could understand the appeal. He'd then spoken about his battle with alcohol, and Dean had understood the point. The sponsoring was a deal between two people that they'd help each other. Finn would help Dean up onto the wagon, and Dean would provide an extra reason to stay there for Finn.

Over the time they'd known each other, Dean had come to realise something. It'd first occurred to him when Finn had gone to Ireland, leaving Dean on his own for the first time in a year. They had shared then, and still do now, a small apartment, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and combined kitchen/living room. The apartment is tiny, but alone it had felt huge. The time difference had caused Dean great concerns, he didn't want to call at a bad time, like the middle of the night, and upset Finn, so he'd sat around on his own. Finn intended to spend two weeks in Ireland, it'd taken Dean three days to decide to go out, and get drunk. He'd brought home some pretty boy, and fucked. The boy had offered Dean coke, and there'd been a moment, a heart-rending moment where Dean had considered saying yes, but his phone had chimed with a text.

 _I'd forgotten how much booze there is back home, Deano. - Finn_

 _I should have asked if you wanted to come with me! :D – Finn_

 _How you doing? - Finn_

Those three little messages, had given Dean enough courage to shake his head and decline the boy's offer. He'd told the boy he didn't use, and that if he wanted to then he'd have to leave. The boy had shrugged with a grin, and sank to his knees, engulfing Dean's cock. It'd been a good night, but all Dean could think about was Finn surrounded by his Irish friends, probably in a pub, everyone around him drunk, and the temptation that had to present. It'd been thinking of Finn that had gotten Dean off, thinking of his sponsor on his knees sucking Dean's cock. It'd felt wrong, but the image had been so right. He'd put it to the back of his mind, and resolved to find some other way to tide himself over till Finn got back home.

That's how he'd ended up meeting Punk, which is not the most auspicious name for a therapist, but he really isn't fond of being Dr Brooks. Dr Punk amuses him far more, which seems to be his modus operandi. For a therapist, Punk spends a great deal of time trying to amuse himself. His relationship with Punk is the second longest Dean has, two years now, one less than the three with Finn. Punk was supposed to be a stopgap measure until Finn got home, but the scruffy bastard had wormed his way into Dean's heart. Over the remaining time Finn had been away, Dean called Punk every day. The therapist seemed surprisingly willing to take Dean's calls, day or night. He'd never really offered any advice, mostly just a listening ear, which Dean found was a lot more helpful than the attempts of the group therapy his rehab program had preferred. When Finn returned, he'd looked stressed, and unhappy, but Dean had been grateful to see him once more. They'd fallen into step once more, and Finn had confessed he'd slipped. Dean had introduced him to Punk, and somehow they'd both become the therapist's clients.

The second time Dean realised he felt a little more than he should for his sponsor was the first time Finn went on a date. They'd known each other for a year and a half. It was inevitable that one of them had dates, but Dean was annoyed with the man who'd shown up to take Finn out. He wasn't handsome enough, he wasn't charming enough, he wasn't _good_ enough, and Dean had resented him. When Finn got back from that date, he'd been grinning from ear to ear, and had sat and told Dean almost gushingly all about his night. Dean had been _cordial_. He didn't care, and in all honesty he'd been jealous. That night he'd excused himself to bed early, and fumed. Three in the morning phone calls are something Punk had to get used to very quickly. He'd listened to Dean rant, and then asked him if he wanted to come talk about it in the morning. Dean had declined. He'd felt better for getting it out in the open. The next morning though, Finn had been just as happy with his night before, and in the end Dean had gone to Punk for the sake of his own sanity.

Punk, as ever, had been patient, listening without judging, but he'd asked a question, one Dean had been avoiding thinking about. _Why are you so jealous?_ Dean had snapped that he wasn't jealous, and Punk had simply smiled slightly, and waved for Dean to continue.

The third occasion that made it undeniable that Dean felt more for Finn than he should was at Punk's wedding. He'd invited them both, and they'd both had to find suits. Dean had found his old one from his court appearance, and Finn had rented his. Finn had looked spectacular, and all night Dean had found himself watching Finn closely. That night was the first time Dean had met Punk's wife. He'd heard the woman's voice over the phone, usually asking Punk who the hell was calling at three in the morning. She was a short woman with the same sharp look in her eyes as Punk. Dean had the terrible feeling that she knew he was in love with Finn long before he ever did. _Why don't you ask him to dance?_ She'd said, and Dean had laughed, telling her he couldn't. There was no way he could ask Finn to dance. She'd sighed, and asked him to dance instead. Dean had agreed.

On the dance floor he'd spotted Finn, sipping on some sparking apple juice, grinning at him, giving him the thumbs up, and Dean had felt slightly crushed. There'd been a part of him that wanted Finn to look jealous, but there'd been no hint of jealousy there. Only happiness at Dean's apparent enjoyment of dancing with a beautiful woman. Later that night Dean's dancing once more. Some friend of Punk's tall, with long blondish-brown hair, and a thick beard. When Dean spotted Finn, he'd been leaning against the bar, another glass of juice in his hand, talking animatedly to someone else. He didn't spot Dean kissing Punk's friend, but Dean spotted Finn laughing, and joking. Dean saw Finn not caring what he was up to, and it hurt. He'd gone home with Punk's friend that night, and the only thing Finn did the next morning was make him some coffee, and ask for details. Dean had wanted him to be jealous, but Dean had been disappointed. Finn was just a good supportive friend. All Finn ever is, is a good supportive friend. After that wedding, Dean couldn't deny it anymore, he's in love with Finn, but Finn isn't in love with him, and that'll be okay. Dean will be his friend, and it'll be okay.

This Christmas is the third Dean's spending with Finn. The third Christmas in a row where he'll silently hope that Finn doesn't invite someone else over, where he hopes he'll get to sit on the couch beside him, and watch TV, and eat too much food. A third Christmas where it's just the two of them.

Punk had suggested that perhaps three years was a long time to have a crush, and maybe Dean should say or do something. Dean had scoffed at the idea. He doesn't want to upset the apple cart. The relationship he has with Finn is good. They support each other, they're each other's sounding boards. With Finn's help, Dean's been clean for three years, he's got a job, a house, a real life, things he'd never have had on his own, and if he upsets the balance, he might lose it all. He doesn't want to go back to his old life. He misses the calm of weed, the energy of speed, the amiability of ecstasy, the arrogance of cocaine, the void of heroin, but doesn't miss the drugs themselves. He's found ways to come close to those feelings without them, but those ways generally all focus on Finn. The calm with Finn comes from sitting helping him build a Lego set, the energy from going for a run, the amiability from watching TV together, the arrogance from Dean's being better at Monopoly, and the void, the void comes late at night, alone in Dean's room. The void comes when Dean lies on his bed and he thinks of Finn's body, his soft, dulcet tones, his bright eyes, his gleeful smile. He thinks on these things, and his hand wraps around his cock. He thinks of these things, and he strokes, picturing Finn beneath him, on top of him, on his knees in front of Dean. A thousand images that will remain just that, because he is Dean's sponsor, he is Dean's friend, he is not Dean's.

"You gonna help me decorate the tree, Deano?" Finn asks when Dean gets home from work on Christmas Eve. The living room is finally full of decorations. They always wait late to get the house ready for Christmas. It's an odd tradition, but one they decided on in their first year living together. The only thing that's left to be finished is the tree. The rest of the room whoever decides to start does themselves, but the tree is _always_ something they do together.

"Lemme stick some music on, and I'll be there." Dean wanders over to the computer on the table, and switches on their Christmas playlist. He takes a hold of some decorations, and starts adding it to the tree. It takes them a hour to get the tree done, and Finn plugs the lights in.

"Good job." He grins, and claps Dean on his shoulder, a soft smile on his face. He wanders to the kitchen, and pulls a casserole out of the oven.

"We eating at the table, or with the TV?" Dean asks, leaning against kitchen door frame. Finn's serving the food on to two plates.

"Hmm... I don't know. Where you fancy?" Finn looks up from dishing out some vegetables. "Is there anything worth watching on?" Dean's checking the TV schedule on his phone before Finn can finish that sentence.

"The Grinch in ten minutes." Dean looks up with a grin. Finn nods absently, and carries both plates to the living room. "You want something to drink?"

"Yeah, I think there's some apple juice left... Or some milk." Finn calls from the living room, and Dean pours a couple of glasses of milk, taking them with him back to the living room. "I'll never quite understand why you love this movie so much." Finn nudges Dean when he sits by him.

"It's a good movie." Dean smiles over at him, and Finn rolls his eyes, starting to eat. They watch the movie in companionable silence. Over the course of it, Finn curls up by Dean, his head resting on Dean's shoulder. Dean sits still, trying to focus on the movie, but instead fixated on the warmth of Finn pressed against his side.

"I'm beat..." Finn yawns a couple hours later. He stands, and stretches, his shirt rising up as he does so. Dean tries to avoid looking at the little amount of skin that's revealed. Finn turns to Dean, with a smile. "I'll see you in the morning." He waves over his shoulder, and heads to the bathroom. Dean sits on the couch for a moment, and wonders what time Finn will creep out of his room to stash Dean's present under the tree. Another their tradition they both have is to try and sneak their presents under the tree first. Dean's yet to beat Finn at it. No matter how much Dean tries to get his presents under it first, Finn always wins. "Night." Finn calls as he heads to his bedroom. Dean glances at his bedroom, and considers getting his presents, and stashing them under the tree without sleeping first. One of the rules of their game is that you have to sleep first, if you don't sleep it's not playing fair. "No cheating!" Finn shouts from his room, and Dean laughs.

"Yeah, yeah. G'night!" Dean goes to the bathroom, then heads to bed. At around four, he creeps out of his room, unsurprised to see Finn's presents already underneath the tree. Dean stashes Finn's presents under the tree, and then goes back to bed.

In the morning, he's woken up by the scent of cooking, and the Christmas playlist. He wanders to the kitchen, and leans against the door frame, watching Finn cooking.

"Merry Christmas." Dean says, and Finn jumps slightly. He turns with a grin to Dean.

"Merry Christmas, Deano." Finn turns back to his cooking. Dean watches some more, but then something green catches his eye.

"What's this?" Dean stares up at the mistletoe pinned up above the kitchen door. Finn turns to him after flipping the pancake he's cooking. He comes over, and glances at Dean nervously. He looks anxious, his cheeks reddening as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Uh..." He smiles slightly, and returns to looking up at the mistletoe. "It was Punk's idea." He says in a rush, and reaches up to Dean, dragging his head down to Finn's level, and placing a firm kiss onto Dean's lips. "He said you'd be a lot more into this..." Finn trails off, looking dejected as Dean stares at him blankly. He reaches out for Finn, pulling him closer, one arm around Finn's waist, the other cupping the back of his head.

"I am." Dean mutters before claiming another kiss. He thinks he should have listened to Punk, should have said something about being in love with Finn sooner, but as it is, he'll just get Punk a _nice_ late Christmas. "I'm _so_ into this." He says softly, taking another kiss.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Rebellecherry, Shoo-chan1, Sub-Pion and Kat.**

 _Fifteenth we have **Wrapped in Red**_ , as requested by **Ms. NoGimmicksNeeded**.

 _ _ **As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!**__

 _ _ **Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.**__


	16. Merry Xmas (War is Over)

_Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/Finn Bálor), Fluff, Mentions of Addiction, Smut, Direct Sequel to Chapter 15 - Wrapped in Red_

* * *

When drinking actually became a problem, Finn couldn't say. It was slow, and insidious, creeping like a mould. When he arrived in the US it got worse. The curse of the Irish, men and women alike would coo over his accent, and buy him drink after drink. Things spiralled, and he found himself at a meeting. He's thought himself nothing more than a social drinker, but the more he listened, the more he realised he wasn't. He was an alcoholic, and he needed to make a change in his life.

He'd been dry for about 2 years when he'd been asked to be a sponsor. The man they'd introduced him to was scruffy and thin, his eyes as wild as his hair. Dean's drug addiction wasn't for any specific one, more like a crapshoot at all of them. He was like a dog let off his leash, and it was Finn's job to get him to come to heel.

They'd met three years ago now. Three years of Finn miserably realising he's not actually Dean's sponsor, he's Dean's unofficial boyfriend. It's not miserably because Finn doesn't like Dean, it's miserably, because Dean seems to have as much interest in settling down as an unleashed dog, and Finn would quite like to settle down. He'd like being in a relationship. He'd enjoy being able to tell people this is Dean, he's my partner.

Two years ago Dean had introduced Finn to Punk. For a therapist Punk is unconventional. He's good at his job, but he's not the most professional looking man. Despite his appearance Punk has proven to be a solid sounding board, one Finn's very grateful for.

Halfway through the the first year of seeing him, Punk had asked very calmly, very casually, if Finn knew Dean was attracted to him. Finn had laughed it off, and told Punk he was crazy. Punk had smiled what Finn quickly came to realise was Punk's _I know I'm right smile_ , and moved on to his next question.

It became blatantly obvious to Finn that Dean at least wanted to fuck him at Punk's wedding. Dean had clearly been trying to make Finn jealous, and it had worked spectacularly. Finn had been seething, bitching to Punk's best friend, a man who'd smiled the same infuriating smile as Punk, and told Finn he should be talking to Dean. Finn had, however, ignored the man's advice, and instead he'd watched Dean go off with another man. He'd felt guilty about harassing Punk on his wedding day, but Punk had seemed okay with it. His wife, and best friend had seemed positively gleeful, planning all manner of increasingly ridiculous ways Finn could tell Dean that he was _interested_. Finn, as ever, had elected to do nothing. He played the role Dean needed him to, Dean didn't need a lover, he needed a friend, a good, supportive friend, and that's what Finn did for him.

Last they'd decorated their third Christmas tree together, and for the third year in a row, they'd watched The Grinch. Finn often wonders if Dean realises that they have so many traditions. There's so many little things that they always do together anyway, that there's a little part of Finn, the little part that is foolishly listening to Punk this morning, that thinks that being in a _relationship_ with Dean wouldn't be too much different. It's a foolish part that Dean when spots, and questions the mistletoe Finn just hung up, is going to die. He switches on the Christmas playlist, and starts making their traditional Christmas breakfast.

"Merry Christmas." Dean's voice startles Finn. He'd been lost in cooking, the music, and his thoughts. His circular, depressing thoughts, that make him wonder if there's a liquor store open on Christmas day. When this _thing_ with Dean is destroyed by Punk's stupid mistletoe based idea, Finn's falling off the wagon spectacularly, he can tell.

"Merry Christmas, Deano." He turns back to his cooking, but he can feel Dean's eyes on his back. He's very familiar with the weight of Dean's stare.

"What's this?" Dean sounds at once bewildered, and amused. Finn doesn't want to turn around, but he knows he should. It's better to face the firing squad, than to stand with your back turned. He walks over, once he's flipped the pancake, fights the urge to rip the mistletoe down, and laugh it all off as a joke.

"Uh..." Finn rubs the back of his neck, cursing his pale skin tone, and it's tendency to turn crimson at the drop of a hat. Even if he had a good poker face on, his blushing has to be giving him away. "It was Punk's idea." He's trying to mitigate this, but he's not sure how well it's working. Dean's staring down at him in confusion. Finn steels his nerves, and reaches up to Dean, dragging his head down to his level. He thinks the kiss he gives Dean is a little too hard, but based on what Punk had said even a bad kiss should have garnered some kind of reaction. Dean's staring at him. "He said you'd be a lot more into this..." Finn trails off, feeling gutted as Dean continues to stare at him blankly. A sudden broad grin spreads over Dean's lips, and he reaches out for Finn, pulling him closer, one arm around his waist, the other cupping the back of his head.

"I am." Dean mutters softly before claiming another kiss. "I'm _so_ into this." Dean says softly, taking another kiss. Finn's hands tangle in his hair, holding him in place, until the smell of burning reaches his nose.

"Shite! Breakfast!" Finn pulls away, and Dean starts laughing. "C'mere, and help me." Finn glances over at Dean.

"We gonna... I mean... I don't wanna sound pushy." Dean walks over, and Finn's mind starts racing. He's not sure what Dean means by that. If he means that he wants this to be nothing more than one of Dean's conquests Finn will be devastated.

"Pushy? I just want you to get me some plates." Finn laughs nervously, and Dean _looks_ at him.

"We need to talk about this... Punk'd be pissed if we didn't." He grins, and grabs a couple of plates from the cupboard.

"Make some me some tea, and I'll talk all you like." Finn turns back to cooking, after throwing the burnt pancake away. He's not entirely certain that this talking will end with the result he'd like. He can't help but think that Dean's going to blow him off. He doesn't want to hear the excuses for his three years of inaction voiced by Dean, but Finn can't help but think that is what's going to happen. By the time he finishes cooking, Dean's already set the table, with a pot of tea for Finn, and one of coffee for himself. He'd even taken the butter, and maple syrup out. He's wearing a sweet little smile, that makes Finn feel unreasonably queasy in the best kind of way.

"Before you say anything..." Dean starts, and takes a sip of his coffee. Finn has the distinct feeling he's stalling, but he's not certain as to why. If Dean wants to break Finn's heart, he should do it quickly so they can salvage something out of this. "Punk told me to do the same thing two years ago." He says softly, stuffing a piece of pancake into his mouth, and Finn stares at him blankly.

"Why?" He mutters, and Dean makes a grand show of chewing, clearly stalling now. He swallows, and drinks some more coffee.

"I've been in love with you for years." He admits quietly, and Finn can't help but laughing at him. "I'll understand if you don't-"

"Shut up." Finn says good-naturedly, a grin on his face. He should have listened to Punk. He should have listened to Punk's wife. He should have listened to Punk's best friend. He should have done this _much_ sooner, but it's finally done now. "I've always thought we were basically dating without the actually being a couple part of it... So I've been in love with you for probably just as long..." Finn trails off, and takes up his teacup. The brew inside is strong, the colour of a pornstar's fake take, with a hint of milk, exactly how he likes it. Dean's learnt well over the years. "What I'm trying to say is I don't want to be another _fling_... No offence." Finn mutters, and Dean reaches over the table, catching Finn's hands.

"This with you is the longest relationship I've had in my life, my parents included. The single last thing a relationship between us could be is a fling." Dean squeezes Finn's hands tightly. "Even if you get sick of me, even if you fall out of love with me, I won't be able to be without you... You..." Dean looks away, his eyebrows knit. "I _love_ you." He finishes weakly, and Finn nods, then realises Dean isn't looking to see the little gesture.

"I know that... I think at least." He laughs, and Dean looks up at him. "I'm joking... I'm pretty sure you love me, and I'm certain I love you, but-"

"Habits are hard to break?" Dean laughs again, and raises Finn's hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. "You're the reason I break all my bad habits, and I'm the reason you don't return to yours." He smiles brilliantly. "Lemme make this official, okay?" Finn nods. "Finn... Will you be my partner?"

"What? Not boyfriend?" He laughs, and Dean rolls his eyes. "Go on then, I'll be your partner."

It's hard to believe that conversation happened a year ago. A year where not _everything_ has been perfect, but it's been damn near. There've been one or two hiccups, but on the whole they've weathered their first year as an official couple incredibly well, and now it's Christmas once more. A day of double celebration. Once for Christmas, and once for their anniversary. It was far harder sneaking Dean's presents under the tree with him in the same bed, but Finn had managed, though somehow Dean had beaten him this year. When Finn had sneaked out of bed, he'd been greeted by the sight of Christmas presents labelled with his name. He'd gone back to bed once he'd stashed his own presents, and been welcomed back by Dean engulfing him in a hug, and a slightly smug _I win this year_ , then a gentle kiss, followed by Dean's snoring in his ear.

He'd been woken by the Christmas playlist, and the scent of cooking. He supposes Dean's decided to make Christmas breakfast this year. He clambers out of bed, and pulls on something more suited to eating, and opening presents than his boxers. When he gets to the kitchen, Finn smiles at the sight that greets him.

Dean's wearing a frilly apron, over his pyjamas, and a Santa hat on his head, dancing slightly as he cooks, humming along to the song playing on the computer.

"You're looking _festive_." Finn chuckles, walking over to Dean, and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"It's Christmas! Course I'm looking festive." He grins over at Finn. "Gotta look nice on an important day like today." He winks, and Finn nods absently.

"I'll look nice once I've had a shower." He mutters, flicking on the kettle to make some tea, and the coffee machine to make Dean something close to the tar he drinks.

"You look plenty nice to me." Dean chuckles, and starts plating up breakfast. "So... You wanna eat, then shower?" Dean asks, and Finn nods absently, taking the seat opposite.

"Sounds like a plan to me. I'll get the turkey on while you're in the shower then." Finn starts eating, and Dean grins at him.

"She's already dressed, and ready to go. I've been up for a while... I had to find something to fill my time." His grin melts into a soft smile. "Hey." Finn looks up from his breakfast. "Happy Anniversary."

"Ha, yeah... Merry Christmas." Finn reaches over, and takes Dean's hand. "I got an idea..."

"Oh?" A sly grin spreads over Dean's lips, and Finn nods. "Shower together?"

"That was the plan." Finn smirks, and starts eating quicker. Dean wolves his breakfast down, and as soon as the dishes are in the sink, he pounces at Finn, kissing him demandingly. "Anniversary shower sex?" Finn manages between kisses. Dean doesn't answer, his mouth is busy worrying a hickey on Finn's neck.

It barely takes them any time to make it to the bathroom, a trail of abandoned clothes in their wake. Once inside, Dean turns the shower on, and steps under it. Finn grabs the lube from the cabinet, and takes a seat on the toilet seat's closed lid, watching rivulets of water trickle down Dean's chest. The water looks warm, the sound it makes soft, filling the room with steam and a gentle pattering, but it's not what Finn's interested in. He's focussed on the sight of Dean stroking his cock, watching Finn with hunger in his eyes. Finn shifts slightly, and slips one of his lubed fingers into his ass. Sitting on the toilet lid probably isn't the most _appealing_ place to do this, but the bathroom isn't exactly palatial. Dean doesn't seem to care though, his gaze trained on where Finn's fingers are moving inside of himself.

"Another one in there." Dean mutters, the hand not on his cock rolling his balls. Finn eases another finger into his ass, stretching the tight ring of muscle some more. His prepping is distracted by his watching Dean. There's something incredibly arousing about watching the other man stroking his cock, making it hard for Finn.

"Think I'm ready." Finn tosses the lube to Dean, watching him step out from under the shower's spray, and coating his cock in lube.

"C'mere then." Dean smiles at him, and Finn comes closer, wrapping one leg around Dean's waist. The angle is awkward, it would be much easier to do this with Finn's chest pressed to the wall, but the thought of not doing it this way doesn't occur to Finn until Dean's inside of him. He starts pressing kisses to Dean's throat, his hands running down the muscles of Dean's back.

"Fuck..." Finn breathes softly when Dean starts moving. "Fuck... Love you." He mutters, and Dean shifts them, turning to rest Finn's back against the wall.

"Love you too... So much." Dean murmurs, his teeth grazing the shell of Finn's ear. "Love being in you... Love the way your cock feels in me... Love you." Dean nips gently at Finn's ear. "Love Punk for persuading you to hang that mistletoe up. Love that stupid rehab program for giving me you... But love you _most_." Finn tries to laugh, but is thwarted by Dean rubbing against his prostate.

"I'm not sure how I feel about you loving a married man." Finn chuckles, and Dean thrusts into him harder. "I mean, Punk's great, but I'm not sure I _love_ him." Finn moans when Dean presses against this prostate once more.

"Don't mean it like that." Dean mutters, and nips at Finn's neck. "No talking about that asshole with my dick in your ass." He moves his head so he can see Finn's face. "The only name that should be coming outta your pretty mouth is mine." Finn smirks at Dean's words, and leans up for a kiss.

" _Dean_." He moans exaggeratedly when he breaks the kiss. "Ooooo fuck me harder, stud." He was trying for a mock moan, but Dean had again rubbed his prostate, so his pornstar impression was fairly genuine. Dean grins, and buries his face against Finn's neck, speeding his thrusts up.

"Don't come." He mutters, clearly chasing his own orgasm. Finn almost whines at the denial of his orgasm, but he thinks he knows what Dean intends to do to get him off, and he's not complaining abut getting a blow-job. Dean's thrusts speed up, his hands holding Finn tighter. Finn squeezes Dean's waist with his raised leg, his nails digging into Dean's shoulders as he clings to his lover. Dean keeps thrusting harder, and harder, remaining buried inside Finn for longer, and longer, clearly intent of coming whilst buried in Finn as deeply as he can. When he comes his hands are holding Finn so tightly, he's sure he'll have bruises. After a moment, Dean sinks to his knees, and takes Finn's cock straight down his throat. His lack of a real gag reflex is something Finn's very grateful for. Dean gives incredible blow-jobs, his technique perfected over the course of the year they've been together. His hands toy with Finn's balls, and his hole, one finger rubbing over Finn's prostate, leaving him torn between thrusting forward, or rocking back. Dean's head bobs back and forth quickly, his cheeks hollowed as he sucks. He pulls back suddenly, when Finn's perilously close, and starts jacking Finn quickly. His mouth is hanging open, his tongue all but lolling out. Finn stares down at him, trying to commit the image to memory. When he comes, he tries to keep his eyes open. Whilst he loses that fight, the image of Dean on his knees, his mouth open, his eyes filled with love comes to Finn's mind. When he opens his eyes again, Dean's still on his knees, his mouth still open, the white of Finn's cum stark on his tongue. Finn slides to his knees, and pulls Dean into a kiss, sharing his load.

"Happy Anniversary." Finn whispers, and Dean grins at him, his hand running over Finn's wet hair. He kisses Finn once more, and cuddles him close, his lips pressing against Finn's hair.

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to the _one_ who reviewed:

 **.**

 _Sixteenth we have **Merry Xmas (War is Over)**_ , as requested by **JingleJeriborse** on the Tumblrs..

 _ _ **As it is Christmas, I will not object to a Christmas present of a review!**__

 _ _ **Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with.**__


	17. All I want for Christmas is You

_Warnings: Slash (Brock Lesnar/Seth Rollins/Cm Punk), SMUT, Beauty and the Beast continuity_

* * *

"Why am I here exactly? No! Better question, why are you taking me here? Seriously, this is fucking weird! Who the hell shows up at man's door at like ten to midnight all, _come with me_? It's fucking weird, and we are not in an action movie... Are we in an action movie? Damn it! Fucking say something! And don't you fucking dare trying to be cute and say _something_. Shouldn't you with your _baby_? C'mon, fucking answer me, you asshole!"

"Shut up long enough, and I will." Brock takes a deep breath, and glances over at the man sitting in the passenger's seat. He'll never quite understand it, but what his baby wants, his baby gets. It's just unfortunate his baby wants one of the many people Brock could quite happily gut. "Seth wants a threesome."

"Ha! I'm fucking married. Tell your little fuck boy he needs to be looking elsewhere." Punk laughs, and looks like he's considering jumping out of the car.

"I'm pretty sure getting married hasn't gotten rid of your fondness for a cock in your ass." Brock snaps. Punk scowls, but settles in his seat. "Didn't think so." Brock laughs, and watches Punk fidget slightly. He reaches out, and squeezes Punk's thigh. "Not as soft as before... I think I'll miss you being all _soft_." Brock squeezes Punk's leg again. From the corner of his eye, he can see a blush spreading over Punk's cheeks. "No Paul to keep watch this time though... Will the important parts be able to get hard without an audience?" Punk's cheeks are flaming now, and Brock laughs at him once more. "Nothing to say?" Punk glares over at him, his arms folded over his chest.

"Fuck you." Punk sneers, and Brock chuckles. "And _yes_ I know that'll be the other way around." He adds, his expression one that wouldn't be out of place on a child's face. "What does _baby_ think he's going to be doing? I'm not entirely sure I want him too near me."

"You miss my dick?" Brock asks, with a _little_ more invested in the answer than he's happy about.

"Yes." Punk answers plainly. He doesn't seem inclined to add much more to his statement, his eyes narrowed as he glares out of the windshield.

"Right..." Brock trails off, not certain what to make of Punk's sullenly short answer. He's not fucked Punk in a _long_ time, and why he's invested in Punk wanting it again isn't really worth dwelling over. It was an arrangement of Punk liking being fucked, Paul not being able to get it up as much as Punk would like, and Brock being there. Not something to think too long, or too hard about. Paul and Punk's relationship was messy, and awkward, partly mentor and mentored, partly friends, partly just out and out chaos. It's genesis, it's journey, and it's implosion had done little but make backstage a little messier. If Paul's ever gotten a real answer for Punk's leaving, it's never been give to the WWE Universe, or to Brock, but he's quite certain he doesn't want to know.

"So... What does your little fuck-boy want from me?" Punk smirks at the scowl Brock knows is on his lips. He wishes Punk didn't rile him up quite as much as he does, but Punk wouldn't be himself if he wasn't aggravating.

"I... He wants to sleep with you." Brock offers vaguely. He should have asked Seth to be more specific, but all Seth had said he _really_ wanted for Christmas was a threesome, and the person he wanted in his bed with Brock was Punk. Seth's interest in Punk had confused Brock. While Punk had been in the company The Shield had been hounding him. Seth had been incredibly evasive on the matter, saying nothing more than he wanted to be able offer Ambrose a review. In an experiment, Brock had tried mentioning Punk around Ambrose, and had been shocked by the sound of the lunatic kicking a wall, and twitching more than usual. All pf this made Brock think this threesome was some manner of _punishment_ for Punk still affecting Ambrose despite being gone almost two years.

"Uh-huh... Specific." Punk mutters. He rests his head back against the seat, and sighs. "I'm not staying, my wife'll be wondering where I am."

"I'm not driving you back. You can get a cab." Brock pulls up to a hotel, and Punk gets out, striding to the door with purpose. Brock follows him more leisurely. "You don't know where you're going." Brock calls out, catching up to Punk at the elevator.

"I was going to the elevator, the rest of this is your fucking problem." He scowls at the shiny silver doors of the elevator. "Does he want me to fuck him, or the other way around." Punk asks _just_ loudly enough for the receptionist to overhear, the woman turns scarlet, and looks away quickly. A brilliant smirk forms on Punk's lips at her reaction.

"He didn't say." Brock steps into the now open elevator, and presses the right button.

"I could just not get in." Punk stays where he was, staring at his own reflection in the mirrored elevator wall. Brock grabs his wrist, and pulls him in. "This is-" What he was going to say is cut off by Brock kissing him fiercely. Punk breaks the kiss sharply, and leans against the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'll make sure to fuck you so hard, it'll take another two years for you to miss me." Brock says casually, and Punk smirks at him, his head tilted to one side.

"Promises, promises." He laughs, and slinks over to Brock, his arms winding around Brock's neck. "I missed your cock, not you." Brock snorts, and picks Punk up easily. He spins them around, and presses Punk against the wall, supporting his weight easily. Punk claims a kiss, a sharp biting kiss, that lasts until the elevator dings for their floor. Brock steps away, ushering Punk out, and towards the room where Seth's waiting.

"Just..." Brock stalls, trying to think of what to say, and Punk rolls his eyes.

"Behave? Honestly, I'm not an idiot. I'll follow your lead, and be a good boy... So long as you keep your promise." Punk rubs his hand over Brock's groin, his eyes half-lidded.

"Don't worry, you won't be walking right for a week." Punk laughs at Brock, and stands behind him as he opens the door. Seth's sitting on the bed, his knee propped up on a pillow. His jaw almost hits the floor when he spots Punk standing behind Brock. He walks up, his eyes riveted on the former wrestler. He glances up at Brock, and laughs suddenly.

"You did say you'd get me anything I wanted." He steps closer to Punk, his hand outstretched, reaching for his face, but stops short. Punk spares a withering look for Brock, and moves in closer, taking a kiss from Seth. The action seems to both surprise, and delight Seth, his hands tangling in Punk's hair, holding him fast. When Seth tries to break the kiss, Punk grabs his hair, wrapping the length around his fist, and keeping Seth in place. From where he's standing it looks to Brock like Punk's winning the battle for dominance. Eventually, Punk pulls away, and Seth starts hobbling towards the bed, pulling his clothes off as he goes. "Strip." He orders over his shoulder, and Punk rolls his eyes, but starts complying. He folds his clothes up relatively neatly, and sets them on the dresser. He approaches the bed, and Seth pulls him into a kiss, forcing him onto his back. Brock starts taking off his clothes, and takes a seat on a chair near the bed, watching the two men on the bed. Seth's hands are running over every inch of Punk's skin they can reach, while Punk seems to be trying to avoid hurting Seth's still bum knee. Seth manages to trade place with Punk, pinning him down against the bed, and starting on licking and sucking his chest. Brock casts his gaze around the room, spotting the lube on the night-stand. He reaches for it, and starts stroking his cock, his eyes focused on the sight of his lover kissing another man's body. Since leaving the WWE, Punk's dropped several pounds, but he's nowhere as lean and tight as Seth. He's still sleek, and a little soft, something Brock's happy about. He's always liked Punk's squishier body type. Seth sits back suddenly, arranging himself so he's not putting too much pressure on his knee. "Blow me." Punk sits up slower, his eyes narrowed as they flicker over to Brock. He nods slightly at Punk.

"Alright... You sure that knee of yours-"

"My knee will be fine." Seth sounds incredibly pissy, but Brock is pretty used to Seth's occasional outbursts of mildly amusing irritation. Punk shakes his head, and settles on his knees. Seth whines when Punk takes his cock in his mouth, his head falling back, his hands coming immediately up to Punk's hair. When he tugs on the strands, Punk pulls back, and sits upright.

"Lie down." He snaps, and Seth scrambles to obey the order, carefully lying on his back. It's surprising how quickly Seth's attempts at authority vanished in the face of Punk's minor annoyance. Seth looks over at Brock, clearly expecting reassurance, or at least some backup in dealing with Punk. Brock smiles at him, and gets off the chair he'd been sitting in.

"Be nice to my baby." Brock says softly, as he grabs Punk by the hair, and pulls him into a kiss.

"Don't pull my fucking hair." Punk snarls, gently pulling Brock's hand from his hair. "Always going for the fucking hair... You'd think you assholes would know that was illegal by now." He mumbles to himself, and takes Seth's cock back in his mouth. Seth gasps when Punk takes his entire length down his throat. Brock strokes Seth's cheek, smiling at him.

"Feels good, baby?" He asks, his thumb running over Seth's bottom lip. He manages a slight nod, and reaches for Brock, kissing him. If it bothers Punk that he's being ignored it doesn't show, he seems too focussed on his work to care. He sucks, and licks at Seth's cock, toying with his balls, one finger drifting down to rub over Seth's hole.

"I wanna fuck him." Seth says suddenly, and Brock nods. He grabs the lube, and moves to start prepping Punk. Punk looks tight, like it's been some time since he was last fucked, and Brock almost wants to ask, but he thinks that might give away the fact that he's fucked Punk before. He's not entirely comfortable with the idea of Seth knowing that, not yet at least. When Brock works a finger into Punk's ass, he pulls off of Seth's cock.

"Warn a guy." He turns to Brock with a glare, but Seth's hands are on his head quickly, turning it back to his cock.

"You've better things to be doing with that mouth than talking." He chides, and Punk doesn't bother arguing, returning to the task of sucking Seth off. Brock slowly fucks Punk with that one finger, easing it back and forth carefully. Punk's hips moving in time with it. He slides another finger into Punk's ass, stretching the muscle a little more, making Punk moan low in his throat. Seth reaches over Punk, and pulls Brock into an awkward kiss. "That's enough. I want him now." Brock pulls his fingers out, and takes a hold of Punk's shoulders, pulling him backwards. Seth coats his cock in lube, and tosses the bottle back on the bed. "Ride me." He gestures to his cock. With his back turned, Brock can't see the expression on Punk's face, but there's a part of Brock that's glad of that. He knows what Punk's like. He knows that Punk prefers to be fucked by _big_ cocks. Seth's not small, but he is decidedly average. If it bothers Punk he doesn't let it show, his head tilts back as he slides down Seth's cock, making a show of enjoying it. Seth's hips jerk up, fully sheathing his cock inside Punk. He starts fucking up into Punk with little preamble, his hands clamped onto Punk's hips, pulling him down into each thrust. Punk's hand is around his cock, stroking himself in time with Seth's rapid thrusts. Seth shifts suddenly, and looks over at Brock. "Put him on his knees... I'll take his mouth, you have his ass." Brock wonders if part of what Seth had wanted was a docile, malleable Punk that he could use like this. It seems to be the role Punk's decided to play, barely moving without Brock's guidance, or assistance, and Seth seems to be enjoying it. Once Punk is in position, Seth buries his cock in Punk's throat once more. He hands Brock the lube, and grins at him. "Be careful till I'm done, then he's all yours." There's an evil little glint in Seth's eye, and Brock once more wonders if in Seth's mind this is a little payback for Ambrose's twitchiness whenever Punk's mentioned. Brock coats his cock in lube, and without warning, or extra preparation, he buries his cock straight in Punk's ass. Punk tries to scream, but Seth's cock is in his mouth muffling the sound. "Oh god." Seth moans, his hands in Punk's hair. "Do that to him again." Brock pulls out all the way, and once more brutally thrusts straight into Punk. Seth moans again, and this time he repeats his actions without prompting. He withdraws entirely, and slams his cock back into Punk's gaping hole. Punk's shoulders are tense, his knuckles white as he grips the bedsheets. "Fuck him properly." Seth smiles, and strokes Punk's hair lightly. "You like this, huh?" Seth asks him, his tone dripping with kindness. "Like being stuffed with cock... If I'd known that back in the day... Well all of our lives would have been easier." Seth trails off, and starts fucking Punk's face, seemingly revelling in the occasional gags Punk makes on his cock. Once Seth's come down Punk's throat, Brock bodily picks him up, and sets him on his feet. Seth's watching them thoughtfully,his mind clearly whirring. Brock grabs Punk by the waist, and without being told, Punk jumps up, his legs wrapping around Brock's waist. Brock presses his back against the nearest wall, and swiftly guides his cock back into Punk's gaping, greedy hole.

"Fucking size queen." Brock hisses in his ear, and Punk laughs softly, his heels digging into Brock's back. Brock thrusts into him firmly, the force of the movement making Punk's back slide up the wall.

"Harder." His voice is a poisonously soft whisper, his arms and legs clinging desperately. "Fuck me like you mean it, Brock." He does an annoyingly good impression of Paul, and Brock latches onto Punk's throat, sucking a large mark there.

"Don't fucking bring him into this." Brock snarls, thrusting even more firmly into Punk, making him cry out quietly.

"Your little bitch isn't much of an audience, or a fuck." Punk sneers haughtily, and Brock pulls out of him, spinning him around, and bending him over the dresser. Without warning, Brock slams straight back into Punk, and starts pounding him mercilessly. It seems that was exactly what Punk had been angling for, his hips meeting every one of Brock's thrusts, his moans low and reedy. Brock leans over Punk's back, letting all of his weight rest on him, no doubt making the edge of the dresser dig into Punk's stomach.

"This what you wanted?" He asks, and Punk groans. "Fucking masochist, size queen, whore." Brock bites Punk's ear, and thrusts into him even firmer. He shifts, and wraps an arm around Punk's throat. He draws Punk back, until they're both upright, Punk on his tiptoes to keep a little oxygen flowing into his lungs. The change in position has Brock altering his thrusts, aiming for depth rather than speed. He spares a quick glance for Seth, who's sitting watching the scene with rapt attention, his hand moving rapidly over his length. "Where'd you want me to finish, baby?"

"On his face." Seth says without hesitation. "I want you to force him to his knees, and fuck his face like his ass." Brock pulls out of Punk, and lets him go as soon as Seth finishes his sentence. Punk crumples to his knees, his hand around his throat.

"You heard him." Brock's hands easily engulf Punk's head, and he hold him still whilst he fucks Punk's throat as hard, and as fast as he had Punk's ass. Punk's eyes are closed, his eyebrows knit, his nostrils flared as he struggles to get enough air. When he's nearly over the edge, Brock pulls out of Punk's mouth, and holds his head still, aiming the head of his cock at Punk's face. The first pulse of cum lands over one of Punk's eyes, the second a little lower, and Brock smears the remnants over his lips. Punk's hand had been around his cock the whole time, and as Brock finishes wiping his cock on Punk's lips, he comes, as quiet and shivery as Brock remembers. "Clean me up." He snaps, and immediately, Punk opens his mouth, and starts lapping the remaining cum from Brock's cock. His one open eye focussed on Brock intently. Seth suddenly interrupts the odd staring contest Brock was having with Punk, by grabbing his head, and coming on Punk's face too. Seth's cum lands mostly over Punk's nose, but he seems quite content with that, staring at Punk's cum-covered face for far longer than Brock would have. "Clean him off." Brock orders Punk, and Punk does as he's told, licking Seth's cock clean. Seth pulls Brock into a kiss, seemingly willing to ignore Punk in favour of Brock. By the time the kiss breaks, Brock can hear the sounds of Punk taking a shower. "You like your present, baby?" Seth nods, a sly smile on his lips, and yawns. It doesn't take Punk long to reappear, a towel slung low on his hips.

"Stay for a nap?" Seth asks quietly, and Punk looks over at Brock.

"Just a nap." Brock agrees, and Punk nods reluctantly. Seth beams at him, and grabs his hands, pulling him over to the bed, then arranges them so that Seth's the littlest, little spoon when Brock joins them.

"Just an hour or two, I gotta get home." Punk mumbles, his voice incredibly rough from the throat fucking he'd received.

"Course, just a couple of hours, now get some sleep." Seth confirms, and quickly drifts off. It takes Brock a lot longer to fall asleep, but he's sure that's because he's never shared a bed with Punk before. He'd fucked Punk, but it was always Paul who'd stay the night. Brock would leave as soon as the deed was done, and he's not sure what Punk's like as a bed mate.

Brock wakes up when he feels Punk slip out of bed. He pulls on one of the hotel robes, and walks over to Punk, hovering nervously as he watches Punk tie his shoes.

"Thanks for this, Punk." He offers quietly, and Punk looks up at him with a wry smile,

"Don't kidnap me again." He smiles, and stands up straight. "I'll get going. Wish your _baby_ a Merry Christmas." Punk moves to open the door, and Brock stops him with a single hand on his shoulder.

"Call him." Brock squeezes Punk's shoulder lightly. "Paul would like that... Call him, okay?" Punk nods absently, and leaves.

"You really are a lot smarter than people realise, huh?" Seth sounds sleepy, and Brock turns to him with a smile.

"Punk says Merry Christmas." Brock goes back to bed, curling up behind Seth, his arms wrapping around his waist.

"Hmm... Thank you, I had fun with him, but I think my threesome itch has been well, and truly scratched. I know what I want for Christmas now." Seth says smugly, and snuggles back against Brock, pressing a kiss to Brock's arm.

"Oh?" Brock kisses the top of his head. "I thought you wanted Punk."

"Nope... All I want for Christmas is you."

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Rebellecherry, and Moiself.**

 _Seventeen we have **All I want for Christmas** , because I wanted to basically. :P_

 **Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	18. I Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

_Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk/_ Steve Austin _), smut._

* * *

Steve would be reluctant to admit it, but he's lonely. He technically shouldn't be, he's got his dogs, and his work, but he's lacking human company. Both of his boys have been busy. Punk's up in Minneapolis training for his first fight, and in general having too much to do, and not enough time to do it. Steve's plenty proud of him, he's definitely keeping himself from becoming bored and depressed, but Steve had hoped when he'd left wrestling he'd come a little closer. Though leaving his beloved Chicago isn't something Punk seems inclined to do, though he did go to Minneapolis, but it's still close. His other boy is busy too, still with the WWE, still fighting Creative and the booking team, still making the best of what he's given, which isn't anywhere near enough in Steve's opinion. Despite the obstacles Dean's doing well, and Steve's equally proud of him. Both of his boys are making the best they can, but they're both not with Steve as much as he'd like. If he's honest, he'd like them there all the time, but that's not an option. He'd settle for at least _some_ of the time, but that appears to be difficult to arrange too. He had hoped they'd arrive for his birthday, but it seems that's not likely to happen. It's the seventeenth already, and neither one has even messaged.

"I suppose it's just you, and me, Hersh." He mutters to the dog curled up beside him on the porch. She glances at him, and huffs as she settles down once more. He stays where he is for a few hours, then retires to bed.

 _I forgot my key... Don't lock the door! - Punkster_

The message arrives at around three in the morning, and Steve groans, dragging himself out of bed with some difficulty to open the little back door. He's sure Punk won't be expecting him to leave the front one open. Late though it is, it's nice to have confirmation that at least one of his boys is coming to see him for his birthday. Steve settles back into his unreasonably large bed, closing his eyes, and pretending to not notice Hershey sneaking her way up it.

"You know... Punkster won't be happy to find you here, Wonder Dog." The only answer Steve gets is the sound of Hershey's tail thumping against the comforter. "Alright... But don't say I didn't warn you." Steve mutters, ruffling the dog's ears, and falling back asleep.

"Hey." Punk's voice is what Steve wakes up to, that and the feeling of Punk's fingers skimming down his arm. Steve opens his eyes lazily, and catches Punk's chin, titling his face up. "Happy birthday." He smiles, and Steve nods, kissing his lips.

"Thanks. When'd you get here?" Steve wraps his arms around him, holding Punk tight to his chest. His hands stroking down Punk's back. "You're getting skinny, Punkster." Steve mutters, trailing his hand lower, squeezing Punk's ass.

"It's called fighting weight." He gripes, settling more comfortably against Steve's chest. "I got here about an hour ago." He snuggles up more comfortably, and a new weight settles on the bed. "I thought she was banned from the bedroom?" Steve laughs awkwardly, and frees one arm from around Punk, reaching for the dog that's just jumped onto the bed.

"She knows her daddy gets lonely when his boys aren't around." Steve mutters, ruffling the dog's ears.

"Sorry, I've been busy... I... I should have called sooner, but every thing's kinda hectic." Punk snuggles against Steve, a soft contented noise escaping him when Steve wraps his arms around him tightly once more.

"I know. You're a busy man." Steve kisses Punk's hair, feels Punk press a kiss to his throat. "So... Where's the other one?"

"No idea. I sent him a message, but you know what he's like... Electronic communication, and actually _planning_ things are not the ways of Mr Ambrose." Punk grins up at Steve, then squeaks.

"I'd resent the accusation if it wasn't true." Dean sounds ridiculously amused, and Steve shifts so he can see him better. He's tickling Punk's bare foot, which explains the squeaking, and writhing Punk's engaged in.

"Dick!" Punk wriggles out of Steve's arms, and curls his legs up under himself. "When'd you get here?" Dean nudges Steve legs out of the way, and takes a seat on the bed, holding his arms out to Punk.

"Love you too. Just arrived, actually... I was wondering where my welcoming party was at, and here it is." Dean leans over Steve's legs, and pulls Punk over to his lap.

"You know, we can't welcome you home, if you don't tell us you're coming, boy." Steve sits up properly, and ruffles Dean's hair. "That was a damn good little match you had with Owens." Dean grins at Steve's words, and Punk snorts slightly, squirming in Dean's arms.

"Did you win?" Punk asks, seemingly giving up on trying to get out of Dean's arms. His expression mildly exasperated as Dean appears to have him trapped in an uncomfortable position.

"Your _new_ Intercontinental Champion, Punkin." Dean crows, Punk manages to twist himself into a more comfortable position whilst Dean's crowing, and meets Steve's eyes with a smile.

"A damn well deserved Champion." Steve knows his voice is dripping with pride, but he is proud, and there's no point in hiding that. "I just hope they actually let you be yourself... This whole putting words in your mouth bull, it's not what got you over."

"They don't work like that." Punk snaps, his expression darkening. He seems to realise that his mood has taken a turn for the worst, and shakes his head sharply "Lemme go, and I'll make breakfast. What you fancy, Birthday Boy?"

"Why don't you surprise me?" Steve offers, and Punk nods, slipping from Dean's hold easily, and leaving the room, Hershey hot on his heels. Dean moves of the bed, and curls up beside Steve, a soft smile forming on his lips when Steve presses a kiss to his forehead.

"I wish he'd just..." Dean sighs, and Steve kisses Dean's temple lightly.

"He bears grudges... Well earned, well deserved grudges." Steve closes his eyes, and forces his mind from the situation between Punk, the WWE, and professional wrestling in general.

"So... Was downstairs you or him?" Dean asks suddenly, and Steve turns to him in confusion.

"What?" Dean laughs at Steve, and Steve taps his nose. "Genuine question, not a gimmick." He gripes.

"You know you can never say _what_ without it being a gimmick... It's ruined for you now, that's just the way it is, Steve." Dean chuckles, and clambers off the bed, offering his hand to Steve. "But that does answer my question... C'mon, and see Punkin's hard work."

"Lemme put some damn pants on, Boy." Steve mutters, and takes Dean's hand, letting him haul him out of bed.

"Pff... The fuck you need pants for? It's not like I'm not gonna give you a breakfast blow-job." Dean mutters, tugging Steve out of the bedroom, and downstairs.

"Fuck me... He did this in an hour?" Steve stares at his den in shock. It looks like a Christmas bomb exploded in it. There's sparking garlands over every surface that would support them, lights wrapped around the TV stand, hanging ornaments on the ceiling, and a what appears to be a good seven feet of tree in one corner, with an army of gifts under it. "I swear, since that boy quit wrestling, he's become a child." Steve mutters, wandering over to the tree, and picking up one of the gifts.

 _To Hershey from your favourite Daddy xoxo_

"I'm willing to bet they're all for her." Dean laughs as he reads the tag over Steve's shoulder. "He loves the dog far more than either one of us."

"He loves his own dog more than her." Steve laughs, and Dean makes a non-committal noise, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve's head. There's the sound of two dogs' worth of claws on the floor rapidly approaching, and Steve turns to see Punk's ugly little mutt come running into the room, Hershey hot on his heels.

"Hello Rick." Dean laughs as he stoops to scoop Larry up.

"For the millionth time, Dean. His name is Larry." Punk appears in the doorway, a smile on his face.

"He's a dog-faced gremlin." Dean cuddles the little dog close, getting enthusiastic kisses from him. "It seems only appropriate to name him after Rick." Steve laughs, and Dean turns to him for backup.

"Oh no, you leave me outta this. Larry is Larry." Steve ruffles the little dog's head, getting licks to his hand for his affection. "You didn't fly him down did you?"

"First class." Punk grins. "Bought him his own seat, and everything." Steve shakes his head at him, and Punk sticks his tongue out. "Like you wouldn't do the same for Hersh. She's infinitely more spoiled than my little man." Dean laughs at Punk's comment, and sets the little dog down. He trots over to where Hershey was patiently waiting for him, and promptly he takes a playful jump at her. The two dogs engage in a silly mock fight, that Steve can tell Punk is itching to record, but is managing to restrain himself from doing sso. He is entirely too fond of dogs, but to be fair Steve is too. If he wasn't he wouldn't have spoiled Hershey quite as much as he has.

"She is pretty spoiled, but she's damned cute." Steve wanders over to Punk, and kisses him lightly. "So... Where's my breakfast? I've been promised a blow-job to go along with breakfast, I'd like to know what I'll be eating, seeing as I already know what's on Scruff-pot's menu." Dean comes over at that comment, and drapes himself over Steve's back.

"Sausage." He kisses Steve's cheek. "Delicious, prime Texan beef sausage." Punk rolls his eyes at Dean's crude joke, and starts walking to the kitchen.

"Breakfast is plenty of protein, so sausage fits in perfectly." He calls over his shoulder with a laugh in his tone. Steve starts following Punk, Dean still draped over his back, placing little kisses over Steve's neck, and scalp. "Birthday Boy, your seat, sir." Punk pulls out Steve's seat with a flourish, and then sets a plate stacked with a full breakfast in front of him when he's sat. "You gonna eat first?" Punk turns to Dean.

"C'mere." Dean reaches for Punk, and when it seems Punk's not inclined to obey his request, Dean goes to him, and pulls him into a kiss. His hands slip up Punk's shirt, and pulls it over his head. Punk tries to break the kiss, but Dean's hands hold him fast. Steve starts eating, watching his boys making out. It doesn't take Punk too long to get into it, though Steve can't help but wonder what's bothering him. All morning Punk's appeared to be in a bit of a mood, especially with Dean. He supposes he can wait till after to breakfast to question Punk on his moodiness. "What's crawled up you butt this morning?" Dean asks when he decided to stop kissing Punk. It seems however, that Dean would rather resolve things now.

"Hmm?" Punk smiles at him, his eyes slightly dazed. "Nothing." He mutters, turning to the stove, to plate up some more food for himself, and Dean.

"So, _that's_ the problem, Punkster?" Steve barks a laugh, and Dean sits down beside him with a grin on his face. "Don't worry, I'm sure by the time you head home, you'll have had plenty up your butt." Punk snickers as Steve's words, and sets a plate down in front of Dean. He kisses Dean's hair, and then trails his hand through it, scratching at his scalp lightly.

"Have I been-"

"Yes. Eat your breakfast, Punkster." Steve pushes out Punk's chair with his foot. Dean starts wolfing his food down, and is finished in record time.

"I'm gonna need you to move back a bit." Dean grins when he's put his plate in the dishwasher. Steve does as he's asked, and almost immediately, Dean's on his knees squashed under the table. He grabs the legs of Steve's chair, and pulls it back to the table. His hand wraps around Steve's cock, hold it straight whilst his tongue licks down it's length.

"So... Do you know what you'd like to do for your birthday?" Punk asks, his tone infuriatingly conversational, and Steve glances at him. "What? It's a pretty simple question." Steve reaches over the table, and flicks Punk on the forehead.

"Don't expect an old man to be able to answer questions when he's got a pretty boy sucking his dick" Steve grins, and then moans as Dean starts sucking on the head of his cock. Punk nods slightly, and starts eating, a distant look filling his eyes. Dean's hand had shifted from around Steve's cock to his balls, his head bobbing up and down the entire length of Steve's cock.

"Hmm." Punk smiles awkwardly, and continues eating. Dean's started sucking on Steve's cock more ardently, his head moving faster. Steve slips one hand into Dean's hair, lightly tugging on the strands. He makes a soft noise of appreciation, and Steve groans at the vibrations of his throat around his cock. A sly smirk spreads over Punk's lips as he meets Steve's eye. "Well, I guess I'll let you think about this in peace then." He stands, and leaves the kitchen. Steve would have been more concerned if it wasn't for Dean doubling his efforts to get Steve off. He's taken to sucking the head of Steve's cock, his tongue pressing firmly against the head, his hand moving along the shaft quickly.

"You want me to swallow?" Dean asks when he lets Steve's cock slip out of his mouth. He stares into Steve's eyes as he laps at the copious pre-cum beading at the tip of his cock.

"Well, we do have to make sure you get enough protein." Steve grins, and Dean nods enthusiastically, returning to Steve's cock once more. It doesn't take Steve long to come. Dean swallows every drop, and smiles up at him from under the table.

"Go take a shower, Scruff-pot." Steve says once he's got his breath back. Dean clambers out from under the table, seemingly smart enough to not argue with the tone Steve used. Once he's gone, Steve goes in search of Punk, finding him sitting out on the porch, the distant look still in his eyes.

"Hey." He mutters when Steve sits beside him. "You're still naked." Punk doesn't look over, and Steve wraps his arm around Punk's shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "You'll catch a cold." Steve kisses him, shifting to press Punk back against the seat. "Steve, go get inside." He pushes at Steve's shoulders, but Steve doesn't budge.

"You gonna tell me what's going on in that little head of yours?" Steve shifts, but only slightly, still pinning Punk in place. He shakes his head, and Steve raises a critical eyebrow at him. "Punkster." Punk sighs, and glances away.

"It's nothing." He forces a bright smile to his face. Steve stares at him, and Punk's smile withers. "It really is nothing, honestly." Steve raises an eyebrow, and Punk sighs softly. Before he can open his mouth his cell chirps. He scrambles to pull his phone from his pocket.

"Honestly... I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd say you and your boy were married." Steve laughs, knowing that there are only three people in the World Punk would sulk over not getting a text from, and two of them are already there.

"I worry." Punk mutters, a soft smile on his face. "He's an idiot, and I'm not there to make sure he doesn't die."

"The man has an empire all of his own, I don't think he needs you panicking over him." Steve laughs. Every drop of concern that had been in Punk, seems to have flowed out of him. He's relaxed entirely under Steve, gently caressing the skin of Steve's back with one hand whilst he types his reply to the text message with the other.

"Did I tell you about the dishwasher? Or when he lost my key? Or-"

"He's fine, and whatever you've left him in charge of is fine." Steve mutters, pressing a kiss to the tip of Punk's nose.

"My house." Punk mutters, and Steve laughs, the reasons for Punk's distraction all morning are finally more apparent. "I love him, but he's not... He could burn my house down, and it wouldn't be his fault, and even if it was, I still couldn't blame him, because I know he's an idiot, and I love him. Not as much as you and Dean though... You the most. Or maybe it's Larry, and Hershey..." Punk grins, and presses a kiss to Steve's chest.

"You're just as much of an idiot. You're lucky I love you." Steve laughs, and stands, pulling Punk to his feet. "You wanna shower with Scruff-pot?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Punk nods, and follows Steve inside.

"Cabana's house-sitting." Steve says as he gets into the shower with Dean. Dean squints through the shampoo foam running down his face, and laughs.

" _That's_ why you've been sulking all morning?" Dean pulls Punk closer, and kisses him fiercely. "Makes sense." He presses Punk against the shower wall, and kisses him again.

"Still wearing pants, Deano." Punk laughs between kisses, and Dean glances down at the wet fabric clinging to Punk's legs.

"So you are." He mutters, kissing Punk again. Steve starts washing, keeping one eye on his boys kissing. They're incredibly pretty together, the differences in their bodies play off each other beautifully, the same way the similarities in their personalities do.

"Let him get undressed." Steve takes a hold of Dean's shoulders, and pulls him into a fierce kiss, backing Dean up against the other wall. Punk pulls his wet clothes off, and is soon plastered to Dean's back, kissing his shoulder blades lightly. He sinks down to his knees, and Dean moans softly. Punk's somehow managed to worm his way between Steve and Dean, and is currently suckling at Dean's half-hard cock. Dean thrusts forward, and Punk pulls back, avoiding Dean's attempts at getting more. Punk turns his head slightly, and offers Steve's cock a light lick. "Too soon, Punkster." Steve threads his fingers through Punk's hair, and guides him to Dean's cock. Punk takes it into his mouth, and tries to move his head, but Steve keeps his fingers where they are, moving Punk's head back and forth. Punk makes a beautifully meek noise, and Dean groans, his head falling back against the tills.

"Move him faster." He asks, and Steve does as Dean wanted, moving Punk's head back and forth faster. "Fuck." Dean pants, his nails digging into his palms.

"That's enough. Get washed, I think I just worked what I want for my birthday." Steve says suddenly. Punk gets to his feet slowly, his cock untouched, but hard, and Dean looks horribly annoyed with being denied. Neither one argues with Steve, but he knows that's because it's his birthday, and for one day at least they're willing to indulge him. Once Steve's satisfied everyone's clean, he steps forward, and wraps a hand around Punk's erection. "I want you to fuck me, Punkster." Steve wraps his other hand around Punk's neck, and pulls him into a kiss, carefully stepping out of the shower, guiding Punk by the dick. Dean switches the shower off, and grabs a larger towel, wrapping it around Punk, and Steve.

"So I'll be?" He asks, but Steve doesn't answer, he instead kisses Punk again, and keeps walking backwards towards the bedroom.

Once they're there, Steve takes a spot on the bed, and considers what he'd like to watch whilst prepping himself.

"Kiss." He orders distractedly, looking around for the lube. He reluctantly turns his back on the sight of his boys kissing to grab the lube. Once he's found it, he flops onto the bed, and watches them closer. Dean seems to be trying to take control, but Punk's definitely putting up far more of a fight than Dean had been expecting.

"You sure about this?" Punk looks _slightly_ freaked out, and Steve laughs, spreading his legs further.

"Pretty sure, Punkster." He grins, and pulls Punk into a kiss. "Now, gimme my birthday present." He mutters into Punk's ear. Punk dips his head a little, and guides his cock into Steve. Steve shivers slightly as he's filled. It's been a long time since he's been taken, and he's not quite as accustomed to it as he once was. Dean leans over Punk's back, and grins at Steve from over Punk's shoulder.

"So... Where'd you want me?" He sounds almost mischievous, and Steve reaches out for him, tugging him sideways, making Punk collapse onto, and into Steve. Both Steve, and Punk gasp, and Dean's grin takes a decidedly wicked turn. He rolls to his feet, and is behind Punk once more quickly. Punk starts moving, slowly, carefully, clearly concerned about hurt Steve. Steve pulls him into a kiss, rocking his hips in time with Punk's gentle movements.

"Dean?" Punk breaks the kiss with a gasp. Steve strains, but he can't see what Dean's doing to make Punk gasp like that, but Steve has fairly good idea. Punk only makes these soft, desperate noises when he's being eaten out.

"You're still hungry, Deano?" Steve calls out, and Punk shivers as Dean chuckles. "Don't distract him too much." Punk's eyes narrow, and he starts moving with determination.

"I'm more than capable of focussing on two things at once." He mutters in Steve's ear, his thrusts gathering speed, and power.

"We'll see." Dean's face appears over Punk's shoulder once more, and Punk lets out a low moan. "Can you focus on fucking, whilst being fucked, Punkin?" Punk's panting quietly, and Steve raises his legs, digging one heel into the base of Dean's spine.

"You alright there, Punkster?" Steve murmurs, and Punk nods, shifting slightly, so he can hide his face against Steve's neck.

"Lemme..." He pants. "Gimme a minute." His hands ease their way underneath Steve's shoulder blades, almost as though for leverage, and he withdraws his cock a little. Dean seems to follow Punk's cue on this, but when Punk eases back in, Dean's far rougher, making Punk's gasp, and thrust into Steve firmer than he'd intended, making Steve cry out too. It becomes a game almost, Dean sometimes following Punk's lead, other times throwing him off. It doesn't matter either way to Steve, it all feels incredible. Eventually, Dean leans over Punk once more, trapping him between them again, and presses a firm kiss to Steve's forehead. Punk gasps, his body tensing, then trembling in the throes of orgasm. Steve can't fight the smile that spreads over his lips at the feeling of Punk's cum inside him. Dean hunches over Punk some more, fucking into him powerfully, driving Punk's softening cock into Steve what feels like even further. Dean's own orgasm overcomes him, he collapses onto Punk, squashing him even more between Steve, and Dean. Steve can feel his hard cock trapped against his belly by the weight of his boys, and he's torn between letting them stay put for a moment longer, and getting off.

"You want me to blow you?" Punk asks quietly after a moment. He sounds tired, and like he'd like little more than to have a nap.

"I could do it." Dean grins, though his grin is face less bright than it's been all morning. He looks ready for a little sleep too. Steve wriggles beneath them, and Dean rolls to the side, taking Punk with him, pulling Punk's cock from Steve's ass.

"Lie down, I've got this." Steve nudges at them both, arranging them so their faces are close together. It's difficult to choose a spot to stare, so Steve doesn't bother, he instead lets his gaze roam over the contentedly sated faces of his lovers, and strokes his cock. He's close, incredibly close, his hand moving faster, and faster.

"You gonna come on us?" Punk's voice is still quiet, he sounds even closer to sleep, and Steve shakes his head. "Wouldn't mind." Dean nods in agreement, his eyes half-lidded, his expression slack with the onset of sleep.

"No." Steve repeats, and reaches over to stroke over Punk's, then Dean's cheeks. "Later." He promises, and speeds his hand up once more. He catches the majority off his cum in his hand, wiping it on a Kleenex from the night-stand.

"Nap time." Punk smiles at him, and Steve nods, settling down beside his boys.

"Happy Birthday, old man." Dean mutters, grinning, then yawning. "You gonna fuck me later?"

"Hmm, maybe. Get some sleep." Steve stokes his thumb over Dean's bottom lip, then leans over Punk awkwardly to press a kiss to Dean's now sleeping lips.

"I'm getting really sick of being squashed." Punk's voice is muffled, but before he can squirm out of his position, Dean's wrapped his arms around him like a teddy-bear. "I'll make lunch when I wake up." Punk smiles slightly, and closes his eyes.

"Lunch, and round two?" Steve yawns, wrapping himself around his lovers as much as he can. "A fine birthday present." He smiles to himself, and drifts off to sleep to the sound of dogs scratching at the closed bedroom door.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Rebellecherry, Moiself, Kat, Brokenspell77, and VKxXx92.**

 _Eighteen we have **I Got My Love To Keep Me Warm**. Happy Birthday Stone Cold!_

 **Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	19. O Little Town of Bethlehem

__Warnings: Poly-amorous (Cesaro/Tyson Kidd/Natalya),__ Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk) _ _, AU, Fantasy Violence, F__ _ollow on to chapter 10_

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"That went better than I would have hoped." Natalya says mildly as she closes the door, and chances a glance at Ser Cesaro. He's standing watching her with a slight smile on his lips.

"It did." He nods, and wanders off to the study. She trails along behind him, and helps put the items from the bags they'd taken from the thieves back. "Though as well as it went, I can't help but to worry..." He sighs, and Natalya walks over to him, her arms wrapping around his waist, her cheek against his broad back. "Ser Tyson will be alone with the healers... I-"

"They're good people, and even if they aren't, my uncle is there to watch over him." She takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. "He will be even closer to healed when we return home, and we will bring news of that foul beast's vanquishing to rouse his spirits." She steps away from him, a beaming smile on her face. He nods slightly, his shoulders still rounded. "Come, love... Let us retire." She takes his hand, and leads him to the upstairs bedchamber.

"I heard that your plan went well." The healer standing over Tyson comments, a smile on her lips. Cesaro heads start to Tyson's side, taking his hand gently in both of Cesaro's own.

"Yes. Far better than we'd planned." Natalya walks over to Tyson's side, and takes his other hand.

"We managed to recruit two Thieves." Natalya isn't sure if Cesaro is talking to the healer, or to Tyson, although perhaps it's both. "One a Mage." He brushes his lips over Tyson's knuckles, and reaches for Natalya's hand. "Our fair maiden, your lovely wife, was glorious in her persuasion. Verily, both were unable to deny her." He smiles fondly at Natalya, and presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand. "And when we face the beast, it will not be able to deny her either." He kisses her hand again, and turns his attention back to Tyson. For some time, they both sit, hands clasping hands, watching Tyson's sleeping face. Natalya's mind trying to plan an attack on the beast, but being distracted by her husband's sleeping face, and the feeling of Cesaro's thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"I've done all I can for tonight." The healer says quietly. "Should he have trouble in the night, sit him up carefully, and pour a little of this elixir down his throat, remember to massage it to make sure he swallows it." She sets the little bottle down on the small table near Natalya, and pats her shoulder gently.

"We know, but thank you for the reminder." Cesaro smiles warmly at the woman, and she blushes lightly. A hint of jealousy surfaces in Natalya, but the gentle squeeze to her fingers reminds her that Cesaro has no interest beyond the bed he shares with her and her husband. The healer bids them a good night, and retires to her room downstairs for the night.

"We should rest... The Thieves are expecting us at first light." Natalya stands, and starts stripping off her armour. Cesaro steps away from Tyson with one last kiss to his knuckles, and helps her. She returns the favour, and before long they're sleeping soundly near their gravely wounded love.

When they arrive at the City gate, the Thieves are already there. In the light of day they look quite different, far from the sly, shifty creatures of last night. The Warrior of the two is solidly built, his hair and eyes dark, though his smile is bright. He seems like a man given to laughing, and spending comfortable nights in a tavern, telling tall-tales, and drinking ale. The Mage is slighter, his hair stained with some manner of potion to make it shine like white gold, though the potion has not been applied recently, the roots of his hair are dark, unlike his eyes which appear green in the light of morning. Neither of them look like they're Thieves, in fact they look like nothing more than a pair of travellers intent on starting their journey as soon as possible.

"I sent her, but I've no idea how long it'll take her to find them, Punk. Will you stop stressing. If they come, they come and we have more help. If they don't- Morning Sers!" The Warrior smiles brightly at Natalya, and she curses the fact she'd forgotten his name.

"Morning. So we are prepared to be off?" Cesaro shakes the Warrior's hand, the Mage offering little more than a terse smile. "You both slept well?" Cesaro's attempt at small talk falls incredibly flat, the Mage pulls the hood of his cloak up, and starts walking for the gate, whilst the Warrior offers an awkward smiles, and chases after him.

"I think they're ready." Natalya laughs, and Cesaro nods, letting his hand fall. "Have hope, this will work out. I'm sure of it." She smiles softly, and they both hurry to catch up to the Thieves.

The Thieves seem shifty, but Natalya supposes that Thieves are wont to seem that way. The Mage Thief seems preoccupied with something, his eyes narrowed as he walks, his gaze turned down to the ground. His partner has taken a hold of his hand, guiding him along, and by stark contrast seems utterly aware of everything. She supposes that's how their team works, one puzzling over the problems, and the other keeping an eye out for danger. The trek to the beast's lair will be arduous, and take several days. She hopes that there's not too much fighting before they get there, but the path is dangerous. At least bandits shouldn't be a problem. Another band from the Adventurer's Guild had cleared it a few weeks ago, and bandits usually wait a couple of months before moving back in.

After their first night camping, Natalya is awoken by the hideous craw of a bird. She pokes her head out of her tent to find the Thieves already awake, the Mage is pouring over the note the bird had brought, whilst the other Thief is trying to keep the bird from stealing whatever he' making from breakfast.

"Morning." Punk says without looking up from the message. "Did you sleep well? Ser Cesaro's gone to refill the water skins in the river." Natalya nods, and gets back in her tent, dressing quickly. When she re-emerges Cesaro has returned, and is sitting on a log near the fire, gutting some fish.

"You're awake." He smiles at her, and Natalya nods, taking a seat beside him.

"You want some help?" She offers, gesturing to the other fish in a satchel at his feet. He nods, and she starts aiding in the gutting process, using it as a guise to keep watching the Thieves. The bird appears to be a large raven, and has taken to perching on Punk's shoulder, eating little pieces of dried meat that the Mage passes up to it. Colt is still stirring at at pot suspended over the fire, his attention seemingly entirely on it, but she's learnt quickly that whilst Ser Colt may seem easily distracted, and rather _sweet_ , he's actually quite sharp and cunning.

"What news does your bird friend bring?" Cesaro says once Punk's tucked the note into a pocket. He looks over with a slight smile, and strokes the bird's head, feeding it some more meat.

"Not much... We have... _Connections_ who maybe willing to help us in this fight. They've not decided what they're going to do yet. I'll send the bird back with another message once she's rested." The bird pecks Punk's hair in what could almost be considered a kiss, and then turns its gaze to Colt.

"Don't worry there's a bowl for you." He mutters, and the bird hops from Punk's shoulder, then almost waddles over to Colt, taking a seat on his shoulder to better watch the cooking process. "From what you showed us on the map, I'd say we're about two days away still." Colt starts dishing up the porridge he'd been making, handing the bowls out, then setting one down for the bird. "It's hot, let it cool down a little." He tells it, and the bird squawks at him. "Don't blame me when you burn your tongue." He laughs, and the bird starts cautiously pecking at it's food.

"That sounds about right." Natalya nods. She's trying to remember how long it took to get back from the beast's lair to town, but the journey has been all but obliterated by the panic she'd felt as she stared down at her motionless husband. Panic Ser Cesaro had shared, but managed to mitigate for her. She'd be lost without out him, lost to the point that if the laws allowed it, she'd marry him too, and have both her men as legally her own. "You have faced the beast before... Three times if I recall correctly. What happened?" Punk looks at her like she's offended him deeply, and pointedly starts eating once more. Colt had winced at her words, and offered her an apologetic smile.

"It went about as well as you would expect." He tells her, his expression fixedly blank.

"It damn near killed both of us, and you're lucky it didn't kill your husband." Punk snaps, and glowers at his partner. Colt shakes his head, and resumes eating. It seems the case is closed for now. Natalya meets Cesaro's eyes, and he shrugs, seemingly equally unwilling to push the Thieves for more information.

The rest of their journey that day is passed in a sullen silence. The Thieves seem to be in a mood, not talking to each other, or Cesaro and Natalya. She's not entirely happy about that. If they are to be a team, there should not be this division, but she supposes she understands. They did essentially trick the Thieves into helping, so their annoyance is understandable. She wishes they were more talkative, or at least more willing to attempt at being talkative though. This silence is not good for anyone's morale.

"I'll set up some traps." She offers once they've set up camp. "There should be something we can eat for dinner out and about." She wanders off, and starts laying some simple snares. She manages to bag a couple of lean rabbits, and plods back to camp. Her mind buzzing with ideas to break the silence that's been hanging over the party.

"And then the guard just kind of stops. Whatever he was expecting to see, I don't think it's what he saw." Here Punk laughs, the sound of Cesaro joining in fills her heart with joy. Since Tyson was injured he's seemed so lost, hearing him laugh again is a glorious thing.

"Ha, almost as good as the time we went to vanquish trolls at Ser Bret's father's home." Cesaro manages between guffaws, and Natalya tosses him a dead rabbit.

"I don't think they need to hear about him grandfather in his underclothes." She mutters, taking a seat.

"Oh? I really think we do." Colt chimes in, not looking up from sharpening his blade. "We've been mute all day. If stories about guards catching us in _compromising_ positions, and your grandfather in his knickers is what it takes to get us out of this dire mood, then I'll take it." Punk flushes crimson at Colt's words, and smacks his shoulder.

"It wasn't _that_ compromising!" He squawks, and Colt laughs at him.

"I don't think it could get much more compromising even if there was a bed involved" Colt looks up, and winks at Natalya, making her blush. "So, trolls?" He says, and Natalya takes pity of the clearly embarrassed Punk, and starts telling the tale of her grandfather being caught in his underwear by some marauding trolls.

The next day goes much better. The four of them trade jokes, and stories of adventures had long ago. Natalya finders herself relaxing, and feeling far better than she has since the last time she was going this way on this track.

"We should be getting close... Did anything come of your talking with with your contacts?" Cesaro asks, he sounds tired, and Natalya can't blame him. It's been a long day. All the talk of trolls last night seemed to have summoned them. Over the course of their trek today, they'd encountered no fewer than four.

"I don't know... I hope so, but I don't-" Punk cuts himself off as a small knife lodges into a tree trunk just in front of Natalya, and her hand goes straight for her sword. Cesaro's drawn his weapon, and is standing with his back close to her own. She can feel the tension radiating from him. Punk pulls the knife from the tree, and turns it around.

"You gonna stay in the trees, or are you gonna stop being assholes?" He calls, and from the forest a trio of figures appear. "Catch." Punk tosses the knife to one of the figures, who catches it,and stashes it back in the folds of their robe.

"Adventurers?" One of the figures steps closer, her voice soft, and gently accented. "Two fools, and two failures to hunt one dragon?" She laughs, and pulls her hood back, revealing bright reddish pink hair, and a smile that would be best suited to a shark.

"Two fools, two failures, two assassins, and a possessed idiot." One of the two remaining figures comments, and the third laughs at that comment. The woman sighs dramatically, and sticks her hand out towards Natalya and Cesaro.

"Asuka." Natalya takes her hand, shaking it firmly. "My colleagues, Hideo, and Finn." She jerks her head back at the other two. "The failures asked for the Guild's aide, and they sent us. Apparently they think this dragon is _dangerous_."

"It is!" The third figure comes closer, pulling his hood back as he approaches. "It's terrorised villages from my land to your's." He pulls a scroll from the satchel at his hip, and spreads it on the ground. "This is our World... All the red dots are sightings of our target." They all gather round the map, staring down at the vast number of red spots.

"It is well travelled." The only still hooded man comments, the hood of his robe casting shadows over his face, but based on his accent, Natalya would say he shared a home land with Asuka.

"Verily... It has even visited my country." Cesaro points of to a spot on the map, his voice low, and a little concerned. Natalya squeezes his shoulder lightly, and smiles at him.

"With seven of us, we should be able to vanquish this beast swiftly." Asuka laughs at Natalya's comment, a sly smile spreading over her lips.

"Asuka." The still hooded man snaps, and she turns to him sharply.

" _Hideo_." She grins at him, and then her expression falls blank. "You're no fun." She sighs, and glances up at the sky.

"I think it might be a good idea to set up camp. The beast's lair is about a half mile West. If we attack at first light, we'll have the sun on side." The man Natalya assumes must be Finn says, his eyes flickering between his two companions.

"I'll take first watch." Asuka offers, her tone light and cheerful once more. She starts walking off.

"She's new." Colt says suddenly, and Finn turns to him, an awkward expression on his face.

"She is..." He laughs nervously, and Hideo cuts in.

"She is well trained, and reliable... Just a little fond of the kill." He smiles, and Punk laughs, clapping Hideo on the shoulder.

"She'll fight right in then. I'm sure Bálor _loves_ her." Punk starts following after Asuka, the rest of them trailing along in his wake.

"The Thieves may know these people, but I'm not certain I trust them, Nattie." Cesaro's voice is pitched so only Natalya can hear, and she nods, keeping her eyes trained on the backs of the men in front of her.

"They have secrets... Thieves and Assassins-"

"And a _possessed_. Don't forget one of them is possessed, most likely by a demon." Cesaro reminds her gently, and Natalya casts her eyes over the two male Assassins. One of the two of them _has_ to be the one who is possessed, she's more inclined to believe it's Finn, but that's just because he seems the least _dangerous_ of the two. It stands to reason that a demon would chose a host that seems docile.

Around the camp fire that night the mood is very different. The Thieves and the Assassins are talking in low hushed voices, neither side happy with the other, but the reason for the discontent seems skewed, and unclear. Natalya, and Cesaro offer to take second watch, and retire to sleep early rather than sitting up feeling out of the loop.

"I am not sure of this." Cesaro mutters as he settles down to sleep, his arms wrapped around Natalya tightly. "I cannot trust any who are not you or Ser Tyson... I wish that we could have news of him." Natalya leans up, and presses a kiss to Cesaro's lips.

"We know he is as well as he was." She assures him, and Cesaro snort lightly. "T'were he gone we would feel it." She touches over her heart, and then presses a kiss over Cesaro's. "He is as well as he was, because my heart continues to beat. He is as well as he was, because your heart beats still." She smiles, and Cesaro kisses her forehead.

"If it stops, let me know." He mutters, and drifts off to sleep.

In the morning the whole band set out, the Thieves taking point, lost in a conversation with each other that involves more looking at their surroundings than their partner. It barely takes enough time for them to even begin to discuss a plan of attack to approach the cave the dragon is roosting in.

They cautiously approach the cave's entrance, and take a tentative peek inside. The beast's lair is huge, inside the creature is curled up asleep. It's scales a warm, ruddy, brown, it's talons tucked up, it's tail coiled around it. Asleep it looks just as fearsome as it does awake.

"We should be careful." Asuka whispers softly, and Natalya nods. "Cesaro, and I will focus on the tail." She adds, unstrapping her substantial axe from her back, and lightly tapping Cesaro on the shoulder. The pair creep further into the cave, hiding behind some rocks near the dragon's tail.

"Wings." Punk mutters, tapping Colt lightly. "We'll keep it grounded." Punk and Colt share a sly look, and slink off, the shadows of the cave seeming to rush to hide them.

"Finn?" Hideo glances over at his partner, and Natalya supposes that Finn will let his demon out to play seeing as the man himself doesn't appear to be as _bloodthirsty_ as his companions.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer my help, dear?" The voice that comes from Finn is low, and oddly metallic, the voice of a demon.

"Demon, I need your word that you will _only_ fight the dragon." Hideo doesn't shift his gaze from sleeping beast.

"My word? For you, my dear, I'll slay a dragon, and nothing more." The voice chuckles, and there's a small flash, then the scent of sulphur. The demon has vanished, and Natalya stares at the empty space in shock.

"Bálor is inclined to deception, but for the chance to fight a dragon I think he'll behave." Hideo is trying to be reassuring, but it falls a little short. He glances over at Natalya, and pulls the crossbow from his back. "These bolts are coated in a poison that should slow the best. I loathe to ask-"

"I will busy the head. Where do you need to hit it?" She readies her blade, and grins at Hideo.

"Soft parts... Eyes would be best. Once it's roused, keep it looking this way." He slides a bolt into the bow, and readies it. Natalya steps out from the cover of the rocks, and takes a deep breath. Her mind going straight to Tyson, to their home, to their cats, to their bed, where hopefully all three of them will be curled up once more. The first bolt from Hideo's bow strikes the beast directly in the nostril, and the creature lets out a roar, it's great wings stretching as it does so. As they stretch, a great boulder smacks into them, tearing the webbing in places, and severally damaging the bones of one. Natalya almost wonders how the thieves managed to rig this up, but she doesn't get a chance to, the beast has rounded on her, it's eyes focussed on her. It lowers it's head, and snorts. She can feel the heat of it's flames, and can smell the stench of it's foul breath.

"Come! Fight me! I fear you not, monster!" She shouts, and the dragon almost seems to laugh at her. It's eyes narrow, and it bares it's fangs. It starts charging her. Natalya offers a quick prayer to whichever god is listening, and raises her shield. The beast covers little more than 20 feet before it's howling once more. Cesaro, and Asuka have hacked a fair length from it's tail. Cesaro holding his blade aloft, a smile on his blood smeared face. Asuka licks the edge of her blade, and laughs at the beast, taking another swing at the monster's tail. The dragon rounds on them, intent on causing harm to those who have injured it.

"This way, fool!" The metallic voice of Finn's demon calls from beside Natalya. From the corner of her eye she can see a hunched red, and black creature. She turns to look at it, but the sound of the dragon roaring in pain once more draws her attention back to it. The demon has launched itself at the dragon's throat, and the beast is shaking it's head frantically. Another poisonous bolt lodges in the beast's other nostril.

"Lower!" Hideo shouts, and the demon lets go, landing beside Natalya once more. She readies her blade, and the dragon's great maw comes swooping down towards her. She jams her sword into it's upper palate, making the beast roar. She can feel the heat of it readying it's flames, but then she can't. The scent of sulphur, and a cool breeze is all she's aware of. The demon smiles at her, or at least she thinks it does, it's difficult to tell with it's mouth being little more than a gaping, fanged maw.

"Wait here, you've no sword." It grins, and leaps back into the fray. The Thieves have rejoined the battle, Colt helping with hacking at the beast's legs, Punk hidden behind some rocks, casting what appear to be freezing spells at the beast. Natalya fees like she's missing out, she wants to be able to join the fight, but her sword is still lodged in the dragon's mouth. She studies the battle once more, and spots the extra blade sheathed at Cesaro's hip. She'd forgotten he'd taken Ser Tyson's blade into battle with him for good luck. She carefully clambers down from where the demon left her, and runs to Cesaro.

"You're unarmed." He hisses at her, dodging a desperate kick from the dragon with graceful ease. Natalya makes a grab for the hilt of Tyson's sword, and Cesaro seems to understand, he quickly draws the blade, and tosses it to Natalya.

"Seven on one is hardly fair." Asuka calls as she darts under the flailing, and severely shortened tail of the dragon. With most of it's tail gone, the beast's balance is thrown off, and with it's wings all but useless, it's fighting quite literally for it's life.

"Fair isn't the point!"Punk shouts from his hiding spot, a shard of magical ice managing to penetrate the dragon's thick scales. "We need this fucking thing dead!" Another bolt from Hideo's crossbow finds it's mark in the dragon's eye, and it collapses with a wheezing roar.

"Aww... Poor baby... You feel bad? I can make it all better." Asuka's at the beast's throat, her axe raised, but Natalya hurries over, and catches her wrists.

"This beast nearly claimed the life of my husband." She says softly, and Asuka's shark-like grin spreads over her lips. "It's mine to kill."

"How sweet." Asuka chuckles, but does step back, and Natalya rams Tyson's sword into the beast's neck. It howls, and writhes, it's damaged wings flapping uselessly, it's ruined tail thumping on the ground as it flails helplessly. Natalya drags the sword down, trying to widen the cut, but she's not strong enough.

"Let me help." Cesaro's hands join hers in holding the hilt, and together the slit the dragon's throat, a flood of violently red blood gushing from the wound, a mere moment, the beast gives one last shuddering breath, and falls still.

"Dead?" Punk asks, as he approaches. He looks exhausted, and Colt very quickly has an arm around his waist, and mana potion at his lips.

"Aye, plenty dead." Finn has returned to his human form. He looks even more tired than Punk, but Natalya supposes that magic, and being a demon has to take similar tolls. He flops onto his butt, and starts laughing. "I can't believe that worked."

"That makes two of us." Hideo mutters, sitting by him. Natalya nods absently, and walks around to the dragon's mouth to try to prise her sword out. She yanks, and tugs, but to no avail. Cesaro comes to help her, and between the two of them, the sword is removed. "We shouldn't linger... The Wizard's Council will have noticed this by now. They'll be here to claim it's soul as their own." Hideo stands, and slips an arm around Finn's waist. "Asuka." The female assassin stops collecting the few dragon teeth that had been knocked loose from the beast's mouth, and helps Hideo half-carry Finn out of the cave.

"We should make a move as well." Cesaro spares a glance for the Thieves, but his attention is quickly focussed on Natalya once more. She looks over at the Thieves, and wonders what they're doing. They've barely moved since the dragon was defeated. Punk's eyes are closed, but his lips are moving softly. "Is he..." Cesaro trails off, clearly not willing to put voice to what he thinks the Thief might be up to, though Natalya has suspicions that Punk is claiming the dragon's soul, and therefore it's magical energy as his own rather than letting the Wizard's council take it. It's truly none of her business, but she hopes that neither Thief sticks around too much longer. Should the council catch them, the battle with the dragon will seem like a walk in the park.

"It's not our business... We'll settle out debt with them when we get back to town." Natalya grins at Cesaro, and laughs. "We did it! The beast is dead! Now all we need is for Tyson to recover, and everything will be perfect once more." She kisses him fiercely, as he starts walking her out of the cave, heading back home, and back to Tyson.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, Debwood-1999, VKxXx92, Lovrgyul, and Rebellecherry.**

 _Nineteenth_ _we have **O Little Town of Bethlehem**_ ** _Bethlehem_** _a_ _follow on from chapter 10._

 **Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**

 ** _Not much is set in stone for these fics - so if you'd like to fire me a song and pairing combo in a PM, I'll have a listen and see what I can come up with._**


	20. We Wish You a Merry Christmas

_Warnings: Slash (Vince McMahon/CM Punk), Smut, Coercion, Bondage, set in s/10187541/1/Amor-Vincit-Omnia continuity._

* * *

It's Christmas Eve, and I was spending time with my friends. I had I assumed Vince would spend it with his family, but his phone had rung, so I'd answered it reluctantly, taking the call in the hallway. I'd been informed that there was a car waiting downstairs for me, and that I was expected to be there immediately. So, I'd lied to my friends, and slipped out of Ace's Christmas party early. I'd felt Colt's eyes on me as I left. I knew that he knew where I was going, but I also know that he won't say anything. He'll pretend to be as clueless as everyone else. He's a good friend like that.

When I got outside there was a car waiting. I don't want to think too hard about how Vince knew where I was. I don't want to question if he has people watching me, or if he just knows me well enough to know where I'd be at this time of year. It's not a train of thought I want to follow, so I slip into the car, and am startled to see Vince sitting there. I take a seat on the opposite side of the limo from him, watching him nervously, trying to guess at his motivations, and mood.

"Hello pet." He smirks at me, and I stare blankly at him. "You should be grateful I'm here to see you." He reaches out to me, and yanks the tie holding my hair off my face out. He runs his hands through my hair, and cradles my face.

"I... I thought you'd be spending Christmas with your family, Sir." I mutter. I'd expected to be taken to the airport, and then bundled onto a plane, not picked up by my tormentor himself.

"Hmm..." He regards me coolly, his eyes narrowed. "There was an _incident_." His thumb moves over one of my eyebrows. "Not something I wish to discuss at the moment." He tells me, and pulls me across the limo to sit beside him. "What I'd like is for you to get changed." He picks up a small bag from beside him, and tosses it to me. Inside is what appears to be a _sexy_ elf costume, thigh high striped stockings, a short little velvet green jacket, a hat with a jingle bell on the end, and some shiny shoes. "Quickly." I start pulling my clothes off, hoping that the jacket is long enough to cover my ass, because there doesn't appear to be any other clothing involved in this outfit. Once I've changed, he strokes my thigh, the jacket comes down _just_ below my ass, and the stockings come halfway up my thighs. He takes the hat off my head, and fusses with my hair for a moment, then secures the hat in place with some bobby-pins. "Back to your seat, little elf." He smiles at me, and I move over to the other side of the car once more. I sit as still as I can, uncertain what he's got planned, but he looks pleased with himself, staring at me with a smug smile on his face. "Do you want your next present, little elf?" He asks me, and I stall for an answer. If I say yes, that might not be the answer he wants, or it might be the answer he wants, either way that won't go well for me. If I say no, it'll turn out bad for me too, but saying nothing is probably the worst thing I could do.

"Do you think I deserve another present, Sir?" I ask tentatively, and he laughs, then presses a button on the car door beside him.

"Make it two." He tells the driver, and turns his attention to me once more. "For the time being you're on the nice list, so you may have your second present, elf." He tosses me a wrapped gift that was sitting beside him, and I fumble it slightly, only just managing to catch it. "Open it." I carefully open the gift, and pull out a box containing what looks like a candy cane shaped dildo. He tosses me a bottle of lube, and a heavy feeling settles in my stomach.

"May I play with my present, sir?" I know that's what he wants, and in all honesty, I'm not in the mood to deny him. I'd wanted a few quiet hours with my friends, but that's not going to happen, so I may as well make this as easy on myself as I can.

"Of course, little elf... You've been such a good boy all year, after all." He smiles at me indulgently, and I pull the dildo out of it's box, setting it down beside me. I open the lube, coat a couple of fingers, and plant my heels on the limo seat. I slide on finger into my ass, and pick up the candy cane dildo, licking as it as though it really was a candy cane, my finger sliding in and out of my ass. Vince is watching me hungrily, his eyes flitting over me. I start sliding the dildo in and out of my mouth, my tongue swirling around the tip. He shifts in his seat, and undoes his flies, drawing his cock out. "Another finger for that ass of yours I think, elf." I nod, and ease a second finger inside myself, watching him slowly start stroking his cock. I stretch my hole open, fucking it with my fingers, trying to keep myself from thinking about Vince grabbing me, and thrusting into my ass. It's not what I should want, but I know how good that can feel. He's staring at me, his eyes alternating between my mouth and my ass. I pull the dildo from my mouth, and my fingers from my hole. I take a moment to coat the dildo in lube, then I start sliding it into me. It's thick and long, slightly ribbed where the red and white spiral around each other. I ease it deeper, and deeper into my body, shifting to better accommodate it. Once the curve is nudging at my balls, I slide it out until only the tip is buried inside me. I shift my legs further apart, making the little green jacket lift up, exposing my cock, my embarrassingly hard cock. Vince smirks at me, and I meet his eyes with surprising ease. I start fucking the candy cane a little faster, working it in and out of me, not fighting the little gasping moans that escape my mouth every so often. Vince's hand has sped up on his cock, jacking himself in earnest. Without thought I lick my lips as I watch his hand moving over his cock, my mind replacing the dildo inside me with the memory of his cock.

"Sir... Do you want me to come on my present?" I ask him, desperate to take a hold of my cock, and to start stroking it, but not willing to risk his ire by doing so without permission. He regards me coolly, watching me fucking my ass with fast, but full strokes, occasionally pulling the dildo entirely free, leaving my ass gaping slightly, only to fill it back up almost immediately.

"No... No coming yet, elf." He smiles, and I groan in frustration, fucking my ass still. "I want you to really feel the need before you come, little elf." He smirks once more, and I nod, continuing my own assault on my hole. After what feels like hours, but was probably only ten minutes, my arms start to ache from the position I'm fucking myself, and Vince seems to take pity on me. He reaches out, and takes over fucking me with the dildo. He drives it into me hard, and faster than I could. My ass feels strange, almost _loose_ , and Vince looks _very_ pleased with the results. He pulls the candy cane from me, and hands another gift to me. "Put this inside you, then come, and blow me." The new gift contains a small butt plug, with my ass so thoroughly fucked, it slips inside with little problem. Vince attaches a small manual air pump to it, and starts inflating it. The plug gets bigger, and bigger, stretching me more, and more. It takes him some time to be satisfied that I'm truly plugged, and I can barely breath I feel so full. This plug is the biggest thing that's every been inside of me. I sink to my knees, and take Vince's hard cock into my mouth. I suckle on the head, trying to ignore the painful fullness in my ass. Vince pulls the hat from my head, taking a few strands of hair with the bobby-pins, then his fingers tangle in my hair, and he starts pulling me down his cock. He moves my head quickly, leaving me with only the task of focussing on sucking him. His hips start pumping, chasing my mouth as he moves it. When he comes, I swallow it down without being told, and stay where I am, my head against his thigh.

Eventually, we arrive at a large warehouse, and Vince straightens his clothes before getting out of the car. He pulls from his pocket my collar, and fastens it around my neck. He then affixes the elf hat back on my head, giving the little bell a flick, making it ring.

"You know the rules, elf." I nod, and follow him into the building. Inside we're greeted by several young men barely dressed as Santa. One of them takes me, and leads me away from Vince to a small room with Vince's friend's pet, and a strange contraption on wheels.

"You're a server tonight, elf." He chuckles, and smacks me on the ass as he closes the door behind me. Inside Vince's friend's pet is completely naked, and fussing the the contraption. He guides me over to it, letting me take a better look at it. It appears to be a cage of some kind. He tells me to get into it, and he straps me in so that I'm on my knees. There's a hole in the bars with some leather straps hanging by it in front of me.

"Open your mouth." He tells me, and I do as I'm told without question. I've learned it's safer to do as I'm told in these situations. He works a dildo into my mouth, then straps my head in place, the root of the dildo poking through the hole. He moves behind me, and I can't see what he's doing any more. He pulls the inflated plug from my ass without letting the air out, and then something large, solid, and slightly warm is shoved in it's place. I whine around the dildo gagging me, and then hear Vince chuckling softly. I look around the room trying to spot him, but not managing to see him with my restricted field of vision.

"One tap is pour, little elf." He laughs, and I make some kind of confused noise. "You're a server this evening, little elf. Inside you is a bottle of eggnog... Non-alcoholic, of course, and it's your job to pour out a glass to anyone who wants one. One tap is pour, a second is stop." Vince taps my ass, and I'm uncertain what to do. He pulls my ass down, forcing my back to arch, and then shortly after tilts my ass up. "Try again." He tells me. I make the same motion again, straightening when he taps me once more. "There... Good boy." He strokes my bare thigh, and then starts pushing the contraption I'm strapped into out of the room.

He wheels me out into a large party. I recognise some of the guests from the club. Vince's friend is there, showing off his pet, who's changed into nothing more than a butt plug with a reindeer tail on it stuffed into his ass, and antlers on his head. Beside me are several other pets, dressed as elves, and in the same wheeled cage contraptions as I am. They're wearing slightly resigned expressions, and I think I probably am too. The flask in my ass feels huge, and unlike a dildo there's no give in it. It's nothing more than a firm, unavoidable presence deep inside of me, that I'm constantly aware of. Over the course of the night several men tap my ass, and I pour them a glass. Having the bottle refilled with a strange experience. The eggnog that was poured into my bottle was far warmer, and filling me with an uncomfortable heat, and as it cooled the feeling remained uncomfortably strange. The party appears to be changing in tone. Vince approaches me, and he eases the bottle from my ass. I can feel his breath on my painfully gaping ass.

"I've never seen you look so ready." He whispers, and thrusts his cock into me. "So open, little elf." He whispers. I wish I could turn, and look. I wish I could tell him to stop, because despite being so open, my ass aches. I feel something pressing into me alongside Vince's cock. It takes me a few moments to realise it's hand, seconds later I realise he's jacking off inside me. He grunts, his hand isn't moving inside me, it's just there, wrapped around his cock as he fucks it. I can feel my cheeks burning. I can feel humiliated tears stinging my eyes, and I'm not certain as to why. There's a part of me, a stupid, _stupid_ part of me that wants to weep because I'm not tight enough for my master, and I don't want to dwell on that thought. I shove it to the back of my mind, and inside focus on the wall in front of me. There's an incredibly pornographic photograph of an orgy between an old fat Santa, and dozens of sleek elves. The picture shows them fucking, and sucking each other. In the corner, there appears to be an elf being fucked by a reindeer, and I quickly stop looking at the photo. I genuinely hope that bestiality isn't something I'm in for tonight. I've no desire to witness that, and certainly none to be part of it. I can hear Vince reaching completion, his cum splattering over my far too stretched insides. I whimper as he pulls away, but he leaves his hand inside me. "I wish I had a camera." He mutters, and presses a kiss to the top of my ass. He flexes his fingers inside me, and slowly begins fucking my ass with his hand.

"That should be something you share with all of us." Someone says, and Vince laughs heartily.

"Him? No... He's not for sharing." Vince kisses my ass again, and fucks his hand into me harder.

"It's the season." Someone else says, and Vince laughs once more.

"Trust me when I tell you, he's not ready... Give him some time." Vince pulls his hand from my ass, and then comes around to my front. He holds his hand up so I can see it. It's covered in a thick white substance, and he takes a towel from the front of my cage, and wipes his hand on it. "That was the first time he's ever been fisted, my friends."

"The first? Good lord, man!" A man with a heavy British accent laughs from far too close to my ass, I close my eyes, trying to picture something more pleasant than a group of men staring at my gaping asshole. "This pussy is ripe for a good fucking... I'll assume you're not up for giving him to me for Christmas." The man laughs, and I feel Vince's hand stroke my cheek.

"He's not for sharing." Vince squats down in front of me, and wipes under my eye. I'd not noticed I was crying until he removes the wetness there. He smiles softly, and unties the restraints holding the dildo down my throat. As soon as it's removed he consumes my mouth with a fierce kiss. "When he's ready I'll let you know." The British man laughs, and moves away from us. The little crowd that had watched Vince jack off inside me disperses, leaving us somewhat alone. "You're ruined." Vince smiles at me softly, and I can feel more hot tears burning my eyes. "Shh... Don't cry, little elf." He brushes a kiss over my forehead, and continues to release me from the cage. He scoops me up, and sets me on my feet, then bends me over. He drops to his knees behind me, and holds me ass cheeks apart. He kisses my gaping, aching asshole, and shoves something inside me, making me cry out. "I thought you'd like your present back." He chuckles, and then pulls the green jacket I'm still wearing down. "Stand up straight." I force myself to stand up straighter, and force my ass to clench around the candy cane dildo he's put back inside me. I can feel gravity working against me. The muscles in my ass feel overworked, and tired, but I don't doubt that if the dildo falls out I'll be punished, so I push them to do their job, and keep the dildo in place.

We spend the rest of the night watching a floor show, the pets dressed as reindeer are fucked brutally by an incredibly well-hung man dressed as Santa, then an incredibly petite young man, dressed as Mrs Claus, is fucked by Santa. The young man is easily half Santa's size, but he takes the cock, which is thicker than his bicep, easily. I'm grateful that there aren't any seats for the show. I don't think I could stand to sit with my ass feeling so ruined, and the dildo still inside me. Once the floor show is over, Vince takes a hold of my arm, and leads me out of the warehouse to the waiting limo. Before I get in, he pulls the dildo from me, and offers it to my mouth. I take the dildo in without protest, too tired, and too pained to argue. Vince fucks my mouth a few times with it, and then opens the car door, letting me inside.

"Lie down, little elf." He tells me, and I lay down on my stomach on one of the seats in the stretch. "You were a _very_ good boy tonight." He tells me as he sits down. The car starts moving, and I let the motion of the vehicle soothe me into a doze. When the car stops, Vince has to shake me awake. He hands me my clothes, and orders me to get dressed. I move carefully, keenly aware of the pain radiating from my ass. "Have a nice relaxing Christmas, pet." He hands me a bag filled with gifts, and opens the car door. I carefully clamber out, and note that we're outside my apartment building. Vince smiles at me fondly, and I stare numbly back at him, wondering what he's expecting from me.

"Uh... Merry Christmas, sir?" It's far more a question than I think it should be, but I can't help the way it sounded. Vince looks me over once more, watching me fidget uncomfortable. I want nothing more than to take a bath, and some pain medicine for the agony radiating from my ass, but I force a sweet smile to my lips.

"It was, pet. I'll see you later." The car pulls away, and I look up at my apartment, seeing the light on, and Colt hanging out the window, waving down at me. I smile up at him, and think that maybe my Christmas will be merry after all.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Kat,** **kathy. dietrich.98, and** **Moiself.**

 _Nineteenth_ _we have **We Wish You a Merry Christmas** as requested by **Brokenspell77.** Special thanks to alizabethianrose._

 **Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**


	21. Santa Claus is Coming to Town

_Warnings: Mild Slash (Kevin Owens/Bryon Saxton), Fluff_

* * *

A package waiting on the hood of his rental car was not what Byron had expected. He finished with the show, and it had seemed to go well enough. He enjoys his position on the announce team, enjoys working with the other guys, likes the camaraderie they have. It's not perfect, JBL has a tendency to bury him, and Cole is as much use as an inflatable dartboard in helping him against the Texan, but it is what is. The WWE is far from perfect, ask anyone who's ever worked there and left, but it is enjoyable. The show was _okay._ Not bad, not great, though it was a little uncomfortable. Little is perhaps an understatement, but the show is done, and Byron is free to get away. Next week will be a little better, it is every week, every week he gets a little less barking in his ear, and a little more confident. Eventually he'll have this all down, and he'll _finally_ feel as confident on the main roster as he does at NXT.

"You aren't going to open your present?" The voice from behind him is overly amused, and lightly accented. A slight shiver works through Byron. That voice had been painfully close to his ear for a portion of the night, he's never entirely happy when he comes to do colour, he _always_ sits too close, the voice of the former Intercontinental Champion, the voice of the man standing watching him with a slight smirk.

"Uh..." It's hardly the most eloquent response to Kevin's question, but Byron isn't sure what to make of this situation. The gift sits on the hood, wrapped in bright, cheerful paper, topped off with a bow. It looks harmless enough, but then again so does the former Champion himself. Byron has had very up close and personal experience of how looks can be _very_ deceiving.

"Go on, open it up!" Kevin comes closer, his smirk growing into an enormous grin. "I delivered you a gift, and it's only polite that you open it." A look crosses over his face briefly, a deeply mischievous look, and as Byron moves to pick the gift up, Kevin snatches it. "Not here though." He smirks, and Byron pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Where? Inside?" He waves a hand back at the building they're standing outside of.

"Nope." Kevin grins, and waves at Byron's car. "You get the pleasure of taking me to the hotel, _and_ feeding me." He heads to the passenger's side, and looks expectantly at Bryon. "Hurry up." An edge of impatience creeps into Kevin's voice. Byron scrambles to unlock the car, and quickly gets in. It's not that he's afraid of Owens, well that's a slight lie, he is, but that's understandable. Kevin is a _dangerous_ man, and Byron isn't in a hurry to see just how dangerous he can be to him personally. He's witnessed from a distance often enough, and that's more than enough for him.

Kevin fusses over the stereo, dismissing Byron's preferred radio station as garbage, and then starts flicking aimlessly through the radio stations, never settling on one for more than a few bars of a song. The ever-shifting soundtrack, and the presence of Kevin, in general, has Byron on edge. The ride back to the hotel is for Byron more nerve-wrecking than almost anything he's ever done. Even talking to Vince is less stressful than driving a car with Kevin Owens in the passenger seat.

"Uh... I've music on my phone..." Byron offers reluctantly, half hoping the offer is dismissed, and half hoping it's accepted, if only to stop the incessant flicking.

"Oh? Where's your phone?" Kevin grins at him, and Byron fidgets in his seat. His phone is in his pants pocket, and the light just turned green, so he'll not have a chance to get it safely.

"It's uh... It's in my pocket, at the-"

"I got it." Kevin's hand dives into Byron's pocket, his hand groping around far more than it has to to retrieve the phone. "Pass-code?" He asks, and Byron sighs, but reels the number off for expediency. Arguing with Kevin Owens is never a good idea, and Byron wants to make it to the hotel in one piece. Kevin plugs the phone into the car's sound system, and starts flicking through the playlists Byron's made. "Really?" He says suddenly, and Byron can feel his cheeks heating up wondering just what he's found on his phone. "Well, I suppose this'll do." The sounds of a random Christmas carol starts, and Byron chances a glance over at Kevin. He's mouthing along to the song, but the shape of the words he's making doesn't look much like the words of the actual song. "This sounds much better in French." Kevin mutters glancing away from Byron, looking slightly embarrassed to be caught lip-syncing along.

"Sing it." Byron says without thinking.

"Noooooo, I'm not a _singer_." Kevin laughs, and Byron decides to focus on driving rather than engaging in further conversation, it seems _safer_.

Eventually they make it to the hotel, and before Byron can escape, Kevin clamps his hand around his bicep, and tugs him into the hotel's restaurant. Byron follows along meekly, hoping that no one spots them. He's not entirely certain why they're here, or what's going on. He is, however, quite certain he doesn't want to know, nor does he want to try to explain to someone else. All he wants is to survive this weird encounter, skulk back to his room, and attempt to forget this ever happened.

"Order whatever you like, my treat." Kevin smiles brightly, and Byron turns his attention to the menu in his hand rather than question Kevin's sudden generosity. "So..." Kevin starts, and then changes his mind. He pulls an odd face, and waves the waitress over. The woman takes their orders, and hurries off. It seems she can sense Byron's discomfort.

"Umm... Thanks for dinner?" Byron wants to kick himself for making it a question, but he's a lot more freaked out than he'd like to admit to himself. Kevin is not the sort of guy who buys people dinner. He's not the sort of guy who buys Christmas presents for people. He is, however, the sort of guy who'd demand a ride to hotel, so at least part of this evening has been in character. Everything else definitely isn't, but Byron will take that one small drop of normality in the face of this weirdness.

"You're welcome." Kevin smiles, and for a moment it's easy to forget this man would probably beat the shit out of Byron for looking at him wrong. Byron nods absently, casting about for something to talk about. He draws a blank, but thankfully the waitress returns with their food, and he's spared having to think of small talk.

If Byron had thought that having dinner with Kevin would spare him more of his company he was wrong. Instead, he follows him to his room, and takes a seat on the bed, watching Byron with expectation in his eyes.

"Open your present now." He seems perfectly at ease in Byron's room, his legs crossed on the bed, his arms tucked behind his head.

Byron nervously paws at the present under Kevin's watchful gaze. He tentatively holds the box to his ear, not certain why, but doing it anyway.

"It's not ticking." Kevin laughs, and folds his arms over his chest, his expression wryly amused. "Don't shake it though." He grins, and Byron snaps his eyes up to him. "Open it." Byron nods quickly, and peels the paper back a little. Beneath the paper appears to be another layer. He pulls the top layer off quickly, wadding it up, and tossing it into the trash.

"If this is pass the parcel, shouldn't there be music?" Byron asks nervously, and Kevin says nothing, he merely looks blankly unimpressed with Byron's joke. "Okay..." Byron pulls the next layer of paper off, and laughs at what's inside.

"What? You don't like it?" Kevin asks cheerfully, getting to his feet, and approaching Byron. "I had to pay good money for it, so you'd better like it." He chuckles, and Byron stares up at him.

"Looks nothing like me." He mutters, and Kevin laughs. Byron isn't sure where Kevin managed to find an action figure of him, let alone one that comes in a two pack with a little action figure of Kevin himself.

"I think it's a pretty good likeness. Note the terrified expression on it's face." Kevin moves in closer, his face inches from Byron's. "If you could see your face right now, you'd see just how good a likeness it is." He smirks, and Byron backs up a little, putting some space between them.

"Uh... I'm sure." He mumbles, staring at the little action figure of himself in his hands. "So, uh... I didn't get you anything."

"Oh I know! My present came from one of the Lucha Dragons... The little one... Calypso? Capri-sun? Calico?"

"Kalisto?" Bryon asks, still slightly fascinated with the toys in his hands.

"Maybe? I dunno, the little one... I thought it was Calypso?" Kevin moves closer once more, and again Byron backs up a little.

"No... Definitely Kalisto." Byron smiles awkwardly, uncertain as to why Kevin is standing so close, but not enjoying it. "So... I was your secret Santa, and this is your present to me?"

"Yup." Kevin grins at him, and moves closer again, backing Byron up against the wall. "You like it?" Byron can feel his heart trying to escape, and he hopes that he's not wearing the panic he's feeling on his face.

"It's _nice_." Byron mutters, and Kevin laughs. Suddenly without any real warning, he leans in closer, and presses a fierce kiss to Byron's lips, leaving him standing there stunned.

"Merry Christmas!" Kevin laughs, and makes for the door. "I'll expect my return kiss for New Year's." He winks, and exits the room, leaving a confused but _happy_ Byron in his wake.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Brokenspell, Kat,** **and** **Moiself.**

 _Nineteenth_ _we have **We Wish You a Merry Christmas** as requested long ago by **Moiself**_

 **Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**


	22. Hark The Herald Angels Sing

__Warnings: Poly-amorous (Cesaro/Tyson Kidd/Natalya),__ _ _AU, Smut, F__ _ollow on to chapter 10 and 19_

* * *

When the leave the cave, there's no sign of the Assassins, but a good Assassin should be difficult to spot. From behind them there's an odd rumbling house, and a strange scent drifts out of the cave.

"I think we should get moving." Natalya mutters, starting to walk away a little faster. Cesaro spares a glance for inside the cave, but quickly hurries after her. What the Thieves are doing is their business. Theirs and the Wizard's Council. It's certainly not something that really concerns him or Nattie. It's best for everyone if they leave. If the Thieves make it back to town, they'll settle the debt between them, and if they don't then that's a matter to be addressed at another time. For now the important thing to do is get home to Tyson. Everything else, Thieves, Assassins, The Wizard Council, even the dead dragon, none of it's important. The only thing that matters is getting home to Tyson.

The trek back to town seems to take at once no time at all, and far too long. They travel faster than they had with the Thieves, making it home in what feels like record time. Before they've even bathed, both Cesaro and Natalya rush up to Tyson's room.

"I wasn't expecting you back so quickly." The healer says mildly when they burst in the door. Natalya approaches the bed, taking Tyson's hand quickly.

"Is there any change?" Cesaro starts working to remove his armour before he goes to Tyson. He's sure the metal plates need a through scrubbing, and he doesn't want to bring the filth to close to where his male lover his lying convalescing. The healer takes a look at him over her shoulder, and then turns to Nattie.

"There has been one major change." The healer's tone is heavy, and Cesaro fears the worst. He steps close to the bed, then takes Tyson's other hand, holding it to his lips.

"You two... _Always_ expecting the worst, aren't you?" Tyson's voice is rough, low, and thoroughly welcome.

"I'll leave you all to it." The healer slinks from the room quickly, leaving them alone.

"When?" Natalya whispers, her voice weak and teary.

"The day after you left." Tyson frees his hands, and pushes himself into an upright position. "It's been a _long_ time." He smiles slightly, and looks at Cesaro, then Natalya, his eyes lingering on them.

" _Seriously_?" Nattie laughs, and stands, starting to pull her armour off. "You just wake up, and the first thing you want is sex?" Natalya continues undressing, whilst Cesaro shakes his head, and leans down, pressing a quick kiss to Tyson's lips.

"I'm sure the first thing he wanted was to know where we were." Cesaro goes over to her, and starts helping her get stripped, then he swiftly removes his own clothes, and pulls her into a kiss. Tyson watches them carefully, his eyes lingering over both Natalya and Cesaro's naked bodies. Cesaro runs his hands down Natalya's back, and grabs her ass cheeks, hold them open.

"Come over here." Tyson waves them over to the bed. He produces a jar of thick, greasy ointment, and starts fingering Nattie's ass, stretching her open. When he's satisfied, Tyson pulls back his blankets, exposing his hard cock. He gestures at it, and Natalya straddles his thighs, positioning her pussy over the head of Tyson's cock.

"Are you sure?" She asks softly, getting a smirk from her husband in place of a real answer. She slides down his cock, with Cesaro watching, his hand moving on his cock. He moves behind Natalya, and presses his cock into her ass. She's tight in general, with Tyson's cock buried in her pussy, Natalya's ass is even tighter. Her head is thrown back against his shoulder, her breasts heaving as she all but sobs for breath. He presses a kiss to her temple, and meets Tyson's eyes. He'd never thought he'd get to see this again, never thought he'd get to fill Nattie's body alongside her husband.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Tyson asks, and Cesaro manages a nod. "When I was out I'd dream of this... All of us together, the way it should be." He smiles, and reaches up, squeezing Nattie's breasts.

"Move." Natalya moans, trying to shift her hips, and Tyson laughs at her, grinning at Cesaro.

"You heard her." He reaches for Cesaro, his hand falling short. Cesaro pulls out a little, then slowly eases back in. He can feel Tyson's cock through the thin membrane of Natalya's body, the pressure of his cock pressing against Cesaro's making him moan. Between them, Nattie gasps, one of her hands moving down to rub her clitoris. Nattie starts rocking her hips, making all three moan, and Cesaro starts slowly pumping into her ass.

"This can't be good for you, Tyson." Cesaro mutters after a while, his eyes focussed on Tyson's face. His eyebrows are drawn in concentration, or pain, it's difficult to tell. "Nattie-"

"Got it." She turns to Cesaro with a smile, and he withdraws from her ass. Tyson tries to grab at her, but she lifts herself off of him swiftly. "Don't worry, baby... We'll take care of you." Her voice is soft, dripping with honey, as she rearranges herself. She rests on her knees, and takes Tyson's cock into her mouth. Cesaro slides into her ass once more, and starts fucking her, with long, deep thrusts. Nattie's head is bowed, moving back and forth in time with Cesaro's hips. The expression on Tyson's face has changed, gone is the slight look of pain, in it's place is one of pure pleasure.

"Hold still." Cesaro orders him mildly, and Tyson groans, his fingers fisting the blankets.

"That's very easy for you to say." He grumbles, opening his eyes to glower at Cesaro. "You're not the one with her perfect mouth on your cock."

"No... I've her ass." Cesaro leans over, and presses a kiss to Natalya's shoulder. "I've got it even better." He kisses her shoulder again, and starts speeding his thrusts up. Nattie moans around Tyson's cock, and redoubles her efforts on it, sucking him with more vigour. Cesaro reaches down between her legs, and starts gently toying with her clitoris, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive nub. He eases a finger into her wet pussy, and starts fucking her in time with his thrusts into her ass. She writhes between them, her hips rolling, rocking back against Cesaro's invading cock. She pulls off of Tyson's cock with a gasp, and Cesaro starts fucking her harder, chasing his orgasm so he can move on to helping her bring Tyson off. Nattie takes over rubbing her clit, knocking Cesaro's hands out of her way. He takes a hold of her hips, and uses the new leverage to pull her back onto his cock, fucking hard and fast. Tyson's gaze is focussed on them, his cock standing hard, and neglected in front of Natalya's face. He takes a hold of his dick, lazily stroking it as he watches Cesaro and Natalya fuck.

"You close?" He asks suddenly, and Cesaro manages a nod, Nattie seems beyond words, her breath coming in fast little pants, her fingers playing with her pussy, two writhing inside her. Cesaro can feel them through the thin walls of her body, nudging at his cock as it slides in her ass. Cesaro comes first, his head thrown back, his hands dragging Natalya onto his cock firmly. He pulls out of her, and slips down to the floor. He slides her down the bed, so her feet are planted, and flips her over. He immediately starts on her pussy. His tongue diving into her, his fingers rubbing at her clit, then he changes. His mouth and tongue teasing her clit, whilst his fingers drive in and out of her. When she comes, she shivers, her back arching, her pussy contracting around his fingers, her juices soaking them. They remain where they are, panting softly, until Tyson makes a sound of protest. Cesaro raises to his feet, and gets back on the bed, whilst Nattie flops herself over, and scoots back up to Tyson's cock.

"Lemme kiss you." Cesaro's voice is quiet, and Tyson seems in no mood to deny him, his arms reaching for Cesaro, pulling him into a kiss that's broken the moment Nattie starts sucking on Tyson's cock. Cesaro takes a moment to watch Nattie work, then moves down the bed to join her, licking once side of Tyson's cock whilst she takes the other. He moves to take the head, and Natalya suckles on Tyson's balls. Cesaro trades places with her eventually, bathing each of Tyson's ball thoroughly. Between them they bring Tyson off. He comes in Cesaro's mouth, and Nattie pulls him into a kiss, trading the cum between them.

"C'mere." Tyson demands. They both move up the bed to him, settling on either side. Cesaro kisses Tyson's forehead, and wraps one arm over Nattie's abdomen. He closes his eyes, and revels in the perfection of having both his lovers there with him. Nothing matters outside this relationship, nothing matters outside of this room. Nothing matters, but Nattie, Tyson, and their love for Cesaro. He falls asleep to Tyson pressing a kiss to his lips, and whispering _I love you_ in his ear.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, Lovrgyul, and Kat.**

 _Twenty-second we have **Hark the Herald Angels Sing**_ _a_ _follow on from chapter 10, and 19. Sorry it's a day late... Chapter 23 will be published later today._

 **Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**


	23. Driving Home For Christmas

_Warnings: Mild Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), AU, Fluff._

* * *

Dean clambers on the bus, and flops down on his seat, regarding the back of the head of the passenger sitting in front of him balefully. He's not the biggest fan of buses, but it was cheaper than flying, and as a student, he's not got the money for a car either, so the bus was the only option. It's a _long_ journey, nearly a whole day, but he'll survive. He's got his phone, lots of music, a book, and plenty of room. It seems like whoever booked the seat next to him is late, or not coming. The bus starts to pull away, and there's a thumping on the side of it. The driver stops, and lets another passenger on.

"I'm so sorry... My bus here broke down, they said they'd let you know." The man who'd clambered on, is speaking quickly, like he's worried he won't get all of the words out fast enough if he stops to take a breath.

"Take your seat." The driver waves his hand at the man, shooing him up the bus, clearly uninterested in the story, and wanting to get started on driving. Silently, Dean chants _please don't sit here_ over and over in his head. Unfortunately, Dean and the gods, that are listening, aren't on good terms.

"Hi... I guess we're sharing." The man smiles, and Dean shifts his bag to the floor. The man looks like he belongs on the bus, there's something about him says he's too poor for cars, and flying is a luxury he'll never have. He is pretty handsome though, in a scruffy, needs a shave, and a change of clothes kind of way.

"Great." Dean mutters, and pointedly stuffs his ear-buds in. The man settles down, his own headphones on, and a book in his hand.

They ignore each other for hours, and Dean's fine with that. He'd taken the late bus to avoid conversation, and it seems that his seat-mate had done the same thing. He falls asleep fairly quickly into the trip. The bus is covering distance quickly, and it looks like this might not actually be too bad a journey, when it pulls into a service station, and the driver announces that there'll be a fifteen minute stop here. Part of Dean's annoyed, but another part, his bladder specifically, isn't. Dean glances over at the man sleeping beside him, and wonders exactly how to get by him without making him up. The seats are crammed together too tightly to make it easy, but he _really_ needs to pee, so he's got no choice. He stands, and somehow manages to squeeze past him. He finds a restroom quickly enough, and ends up having a cigarette with the driver.

When they get back on the bus, Dean's seat-mate is awake, rubbing at one eye tiredly, his cell phone in his hand. When he spots Dean, he offers him a smile.

"So... What's your name?" The man smiles at Dean, standing to let Dean back into his seat.

"It's Dean." He mutters, and slips past the man, taking his seat once more. He has the terrible feeling that his seat-mate is awake, and looking for a conversation. Dean isn't overly interested in talking, but it's Christmas, not exactly the time of year to be rude no matter how much he'd like to be.

"Dean? Hi, I'm Punk." He extends his hand, and Dean shakes it awkwardly. "So, where you headed?"

"Home." Dean offers vaguely, and Punk nods at him, his smile strained slightly, looking like he'd like to back out of this conversation, but not sure how. "I'm going to visit my younger brother." Dean's not entirely sure why he's offering this extra information, but Punk looks oddly grateful for it.

"That's good. You should spend time with your family on the holidays." He glances down at his cell, and then looks back at Dean. "I'm heading home too, but..." He shakes his head, and Dean nods.

"There's nothing more _difficult_ than family, right?" He laugh, and Punk chuckles along with him. "But, you know what they say, you can't chose your family."

"Well... You can try, but most people don't bother." Punk's smile falls from his face, and Dean wonders if the conversation is over so he can get back to his book. "Are you the oldest?" He asks suddenly, and it takes Dean a moment to work out what he's asking.

"No... Middle." A smile finds its way to Dean's lips. "We're adopted from different places, but I've an older, and younger brother."

"Adopted?" Punk sounds surprised, and Dean nods at him. He looks almost wistful, and Dean finds himself trying to mentally remove the large bushy beard on Punk's face. Without the beard, Dean's certain Punk has a beautiful jawline, to go with his pretty eyes.

"Yeah. My brothers and I share no blood, but we're super close. My big brother's gonna be there too." Dean grins, thinking of his family always cheers him up. He's not had much of a chance to see them lately, with college, and a part-time job, he's been busy, so this Christmas is a big deal for him.

"Hmm... Must be nice to be so excited to go home." Punk laughs, and Dean rubs the back of his neck nervously rather than answer. Punk doesn't seem inclined to continue the conversation, and once more silence falls over them. Dean considers going back to his music, but he thinks now that they've spoken it'd be too rude. After a little while, Dean falls asleep, and is comfortably dreaming away when he's awoken by a shake to his shoulder.

"Hey... Dean?" Punk smiles at him, and shaking him lightly again. "You want anything?"

"Huh?" Dean mumbles, not quite awake. The bus has stopped once more, and Punk's standing, leaning over Dean. "Uh... A coke?" Dean manages, and Punk nods, wandering off the bus. Driver is once more having a cigarette, a few other people are milling about outside with him, but most are still on bus sleeping. Punk returns shortly, and tosses Dean his coke. "How much?"

"Don't worry about it." Punk seems distracted, and sits down only to spring to his feet, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He glares at the screen then takes his seat once more. "What?" He hisses, and the voice on the other end isn't loud enough for Dean to hear. "Yes." He closes his eyes, his expression tightly miserable. "I said, I'd be there, and I will. Will you fucking calm down?" He sighs, and the voice on the other end gets louder. It sounds female, and incredibly pissed. "No, he won't." Punk snaps this, and the woman starts ranting. "Maybe because he's not my boyfriend, mom. Did that ever occur to you?" Dean silently wishes he wasn't party to this one-sided conversation, it's possibly the most uncomfortable thing he's ever had to endure, and he had to sit through his brother's high school plays. "I'm on the bus. I'll call when I get in." Punk hangs up, his head falls back against the headrest, his eyes closed. "I hate my family." He turns to look at Dean, a tight smile on his lips.

"It sounded like you might have reasons to." Dean attempts at jokingly, but he thinks it probably sounded more like he was commiserating with Punk. "You wanna talk about it?" Dean offers, and Punk shakes his head.

"Nah, it's cool. I'll go see them for a day, then go the people I actually like." He laughs, and Dean nods absently, keeping his thoughts on how sad that sounds too himself. "So... What were you reading?" Punk's change of topic was clunky, and clearly designed to keep Dean talking, but he can't say he minds. It's Christmas after all, and talking to a comparatively attractive guy isn't a bad way to spend a bus trip.

They talk about pretty much any non-personal subject, books, movies, TV shows, anything but actual details about themselves. Dean learns that Punk is sharp, funny, and has an amazing laugh. As they spoke he found it easier to look past the beard, the scruffy hair, and the tattoos that cover his skin. Punk's a good-looking man who is either not aware of it, or trying to hide it, and without asking personal questions, Dean can't say for sure which it is.

"So... Your accent is Chicago, I'm guessing you're heading there." Dean says eventually. The board on the bus is displaying that Chicago is the next stop, and Dean would quite like to stay in Punk's company, so he's hoping the answer is no.

"Yeah... Wish me luck." Punk laughs, running a hand over his face. "I really wish I wasn't going back there... But family... They brought me into this world, but I swear the _only_ thing they've done for me since then is drive me insane." He shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, that's completely not what I wanted to say."

"Hey... It's okay. I love my family, but it's not all sunshine and roses." Dean claps Punk on the shoulder lightly, offering him a smile. "You stay in Chicago?"

"Yes, and no... It's... It's not as complicated as I made it sound. I move around for work a lot, but my permanent address is here. Thankfully not with my parents." He tacks on, a nervous laugh in his tone.

"So what is it you do?" Dean blurts out before he's thought it over, Punk glances at him, then turns his attention to the sign.

"I'm a writer." He mutters, and why he'd used Dean's book as a subject changer makes a little more sense. Talking about what you know is easier than anything else.

"What kind?" Dean prompts, interested to learn something about who Punk is, rather than the abstract likes, and dislikes he has. If he had to guess, he'd say Punk was some kind of music journalist, he looks like he'd spend his time in dingy clubs listening to up and coming rock bands.

"Of words..." Punk stalls, and then turns to Dean with a smile. "I write novels." That wasn't the answer Dean was expecting, and he finds himself looking at Punk in a different light. He's a man of surprises it seems.

"Have I read any of your books? I don't remember the last time I read a book by a Punk, though." Dean laughs, and Punk actually looks a little embarrassed.

"Maybe... I don't publish books under the name Punk." He laughs, and rubs the back of his neck. The bus is slowing down, clearly approaching the depot, and Dean stares out the window at the buildings passing by. The bus pulls into the station, and Dean turns to Punk to say goodbye to him, but not really wanting him to go. "So I hope this isn't gonna sound weird, but I'd really like to meet up again sometime... Maybe if you're in Chicago over new year? My friends and I usually have a big party... Good food, good music, attractive people..." Punk smiles over at Dean, looking hopeful. There's no good reason Dean can think of to say no, but he doesn't even try to think of a reason. He'd like to see Punk again, he's handsome, charming, and interesting, there's definitely no reason to say no. Dean hands Punk his phone, and watches him typing at it. Punk's phone starts ringing, and Dean supposes he'd called himself, rather than enter his number into Dean's contacts.

"I'll try and get a few days here in the new year." Dean grins, and Punk nods, a broad smile on his lips.

"Merry Christmas, Dean." Punk gets off the bus, leaving Dean alone, but with plans for his New Year's Eve celebrations.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself.**

 _Twenty-third we have **Driving Home for Christmas** , as requested by **Debwood-1999**_

 **Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**


	24. Fairytale of New York

_Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk) (John Cena/CM Punk), AU, VIOLENCE, Death._

* * *

The feeling in the pit of his stomach is old and familiar. He knows this feeling. It's the certain dread of having done something awful whilst drunk, but not being certain what. He's not opened his eyes yet, but he knows where he is. He's familiar with what it feels like to be in a jail cell. He opens his eyes, and stares around him. The walls are uniformly white, offering no clues as to which jail he's in. A guard slides the grill on the door open, and peeks inside.

"You're awake? C'mon then." He opens the door, and Dean forces himself to his feet. He's led through the police station, to the front where there's a large, muscular man waiting for him. Dean thinks he looks vaguely familiar, but he can't quite put his finger on who he is.

"Dean... Dude, I told you to not get too fucked up last night." The man laughs, and slaps Dean on the back. "C'mon, I sprung you, lets get outta here." The man ushers Dean out, once he's dealt with the paperwork. Dean trails along behind him, feeling distinctly confused.

"I... What happened last night?" He recognises the man in front of him, but only just. He's not sure where he recognises the man from, but he does know his face

"You don't remember?" The man ask, and Dean shakes his head. "My name is John." The man says softly, and Dean nods, far from certain what this guy is doing here, but not complaining about having his bail paid for him. "I met you last night, and we..." The man trails off, and starts walking, clearly expecting Dean to follow him. They end up in the man's car, a large, sensible SUV. "We were both fucking Punk." He says suddenly, and the feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach gets worse. "I found out about you last night, and we taught him a little lesson."

"Where is he?" Dean blurts out, and John starts the car.

"Asleep... He's where we left him last night" John hasn't looked at him since starting the car, and Dean feels like he's going throw up.

"Is he... Did we..." He can't begin to work out what he wants to ask. John seems pretty relaxed, but there does seem to be something slightly off about him. They could have done something truly _awful_ to Punk, and Dean would have no memory of it.

"He's sleeping." John repeats. Dean doesn't ask any more question. He sits quietly, staring out of the car window trying to piece together what he can of last night. He thinks he remembers John, he's certain he remembers Punk, and there being tears, he can remember the sound of someone or several some-ones screaming.

"How did I end up in a cell?" He asks after a little while, and John laughs

"You left about eleven-ish, said you needed a drink." John glances over at him. "What do you remember?"

"I remember meeting you... I think I remember shouting at Punk... But most of it's blank." Dean sighs, and John nods, pulling into a gated community.

"Your name isn't Dean." He says suddenly. "It's Jon." Dean laughs, and nods. He usually goes by Dean, but his _real_ name is Jon. "Punk calls you Jon... I'm called John... He's a cheating whore, but you've got to give him credit. Cheating on two guys with the same name is smart." Dean closes his eyes, and wills the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach away. John parks his car in front of a large house, and turns to face Dean. " _Think_. What did you do last night?"

"I don't... I drank it all away. I wanted to get so drunk that what happened before was a blur, and I did." Dean scrubs a hand over his face, and stares at the house. He has a vague memory of stumbling away from it, with anger, and pain bubbling in his head. "We were here?" John nods at his question. "We both went to surprise him... I wasn't supposed to be here, I live on the other side of the country, but this is your home town, isn't it?"

"Not exactly, but I've lived here for years... There's more body-building competitions here compared to Boston." John looks hopefully at Dean.

"We were both at the airport to meet him... And he looked terrified... I remember how scared he looked. I thought he was going to turn tail and run." Dean rubs his eyes, and fights with his terrible memory, trying to get anything else back from the alcohol induced amnesia.

"He was definitely thinking about it." John laughs, and Dean looks over at him again. There is something definitely _off_ about this man, and Dean can't put his finger on what it is. "Whore that he is... C'mon, lets get you inside, and cleaned up." Dean gets out of the car, and against his better judgement follows John into his house.

"This is nice." It's an accurate if bland observation. The inside of John's home is tastefully decorated in creams, and beiges. It's clearly not a home that ever expects to have children, clearly the home of a rich, confirmed childless man.

"Thank you. Go take a shower, once you're washed, and dressed, we can check in with the whore." John smiles, and gestures to a hallway. "The shower's the first door on the left. I'll look out something for you to wear." John starts down the hallway he'd gestured to, and Dean follows him, ignoring the sickness gnawing at his gut.

He showers for two simple reasons, one he feels filthy, and two arguing with John doesn't seem like a very good idea. The man seems _disturbed_ , and Dean wonders how Punk, slender, nerdy, sweet Punk, ended up cheating on him with a bodybuilder, or with him on a bodybuilder. He doesn't know the full details yet, but Dean has the terrible feeling he's not going to get the full details from John. He can only hope Punk'll tell him when he wakes up.

When he's showered, Dean pulls on the clothes John had left for him, and leaves the bathroom. John's standing waiting for him, an anxious expression on his face.

"C'mon... Lets go check on the whore." John takes a hold of Dean's wrist, and drags him down the hall, then up a staircase. He pushes open a door, leading Dean in. Inside the room there's a large bed, covered in white blankets. In the middle of the bed, there's a the raised lump of a person. Dean cautiously steps forward, dreading what he might see, but secretly hoping it's nothing more than Punk's sleeping face.

"Is he okay?" Dean sits on the bed, and strokes Punk's cheek. There's the edge of a heavy bruise just visible on it, but mostly the bruise is obscured by the thick black blindfold over his eyes. His bottom lip is swollen, and Dean fears looking under the blindfold, or under the comforter that's covering his body.

"He's sleeping." John repeats. Carefully Dean holds a finger under Punk's nose, fearfully checking to see if he's still breathing. When little warm puffs over air wash over his skin, the relief Dean feels is palpable. Punk's skin is so pale, but he is breathing, so that's something.

"What... What did we do? What happened to him?" Dean brushes Punk's hair from his forehead, staring down at him, hoping for him to wake up, for some sign that he's okay. John stares at Dean, his expression blank.

"I'm sure you'll remember what you did later." John smiles, and leaves the room. Dean turns back to Punk, and tries to hide his wince when he hears the door locking.

"Is he gone?" Punk sounds terrible, and Dean moves so that he's kneeling on the floor beside the bed. He reaches out, and carefully removes the blindfold. He quickly replaces it. Punk's eyes were carefully sewn shut, the sockets looking sunken, and empty. John is _definitely_ not okay.

"What the fuck did we do?" Dean whispers, and Punk struggles into an upright position.

" _Jon?_... You didn't do anything..." Punk's hands fly up to his eyes. The little colour in his face drains away. "What... What did he do to me?" Punk gropes along the fabric around his head. He starts breathing faster, his chest heaving. "Jon, I can't... I can't see."

"I know... I know." Dean mutters, and catches Punk's hands. "Were you fucking us both?" He feels stupid for asking the question, but he can't help it. It was never a serious thing with Punk, but Dean had always hoped it might grow to be.

"Yes... I... I didn't think it was serious with either of you... Just fucking." Punk mutters, his hands shaking. "I didn't... Oh fuck, I _never_ thought you'd meet, I didn't think it would matter to either of you." He starts hyperventilating, his whole body trembling.

"Punk... _Breathe_." Dean moves up to sit on the bed, and squeezes Punk's hands. "Punk count to ten."

"What? _What_?" He mutters, his breathing still fast, his trembling getting worse.

"Count to ten." Dean repeats.

"One... Two... Three... Dean, I can't _see_! How the fuck is this supposed to help? I can't even fucking _feel_ my eyes..." Punk sounds panicked, and the door opens.

"Of course you can't, _whore_." John sounds horribly amused, and Dean squeezes Punk hands tighter. John comes closer, and sets a jar down on the night-stand. Dean doesn't want to look, he _knows_ what's in it, but he can't keep from staring at the contents of the jar. Punk's eyes were beautiful. They were incapable of hiding his emotions, vibrant, bright, _gloriously_ beautiful eyes, and now they're floating in some liquid in what looks like a pickle jar. "I took them. You don't need eyes, whore." John laughs, and moves to stand at the head of the bed. He stares at Dean. "You don't remember _anything_ do you?" He laughs, and Dean shakes his head. He remembers nothing, he certainly doesn't remember how Punk came to be in this state.

"You drugged him!" Punk's voice is thin, and high, the fear in it is painfully obvious.

"Shut up whore!" John pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants, and points it at Punk.

"You drugged him, and you did this to me, and I just... I wanna go home. John, lemme go home." Punk sounds desperate, and Dean glances over at him. His body is shaking, the comforter pooled at his waist, his bare chest littered with bruises, and what look like cigarette burns here and there.

"What about him? You're little fuck-buddy, or were you asking _that_ Jon if you could go home, whore?" John snarls, and turns the gun towards Dean. Dean stares at him, at the gun pointed at his forehead, his hands raised instinctively to show he's not a threat. Punk's still trembling beside him, his hands groping over the bed, desperately seeking some kind of contact with Dean.

"John... Put that down." Dean doesn't say what it is, he doesn't want Punk panicking more than he is.

"What down? What?" Punk's chest is heaving, his whole body trembling even more.

"Shut the fuck up whore!" John shouts, and cocks the gun in his hand, pressing the barrel against Punk's forehead. "Fucking, filthy, cheap whore! I fucking loved you!" John's screaming in Punk's face, spittle flying from his mouth. His finger hovers over the trigger, and Dean takes Punk's hand to try to offer him some comfort. "Don't touch it!" John sneers at him, and grabs Punk, throwing him from the bed. "Don't you fucking lay a finger on that fucking whore! It's _mine_!" Dean had never wondered what being shot would feel like, had never wondered what the sound of a gunshot aimed at him would be, but now he knows, and it's not pleasant. He swears he could hear the bullet tearing through his abdomen, hear it ripping through flesh, and bone. The pain isn't something he can describe. It overpowers everything. A total, and all encompassing agony that leaves him panting and shaking the way Punk had been.

"Jon? Dean?" Punk sounds even more panicked, and Dean can't hold back a laugh, although it comes out as a pained whimper. John's standing watching him, his eyes wide, ignoring Punk's increasingly incoherent screeching.

"I loved him." John mutters, watching Dean's blood seeping over the comforter. "I loved him, and you stole him from me." Punk's managed to claw his way to the bed, his hands resting on the now soaked comforter.

"Is this... What have you done, John?" Punk's somehow managed to force himself to his feet, and is trying to grope his way around the bed to where he must think John is standing. Dean opens his mouth, trying to warn Punk that this is a terrible idea, but John seems amused by Punk's blind flailing, and steps closer to Punk. He catches Punk's blood stained hand, and laughs.

"You've killed him. If you could just keep your pretty, little legs closed, whore... If you weren't a whore, your little fuck-buddy wouldn't be bleeding out, and you'd still have those pretty little eyes of yours." John drags Punk towards the dresser, and sets the gun down on it.

"John... It was _never_ serious." Punk starts, and John smacks him, knocking him off his feet, then kicks at his crumpled body.

"Shut the fuck up! I don't wanna hear you any more!" John opens a drawer in the dresser, and produces a hunting knife. "C'mere, I want him to see this." Dean watches John grab Punk, pulling him up to his knees, then pushing him towards the bed. John grabs his face, and then meets Dean's eyes. "I've taken his eyes... What should I take next?"

"John... Don't do this... If we die, you're going to jail." Dean tries reasoning, but all John does is laugh, and force Punk to open his mouth.

"I've always loved your voice, baby." He coos into Punk's ear. Dean was certain Punk couldn't get any paler than he already was, but apparently Dean was wrong. "Hold out your tongue for me." Punk shakes his head, and John sighs. "Hold out your fucking tongue or I'll slit your fucking throat." Punk shakes his head again.

"You're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?" Punk grinds out, and John laughs softly, pressing a kiss to Punk's sweat slicked hair.

"Baby... My sweet, worthless whore... You are right." John laughs, and holds the knife to Punk's throat. "But I want to have fun with your first." He kisses Punk again, and throws him to the ground. The angle means Dean can't see what's happening, but with the amount of blood he's lost, seeing is getting difficult anyway. Punk's scream is brutal, a strange wet gargle of noise, that Dean's convinced will haunt him for as long as he lives. The wet slap of Punk's severed tongue hitting Dean on the chest is another sound he'll never forget. John stands up, his clothes splattered with blood. Punk's still making weak, wet sounds, and Dean closes his eyes, trying to think of anything but this nightmare. "I think you've been punished enough, whore." John grabs the gun from the dresser once more, and points it at the ground. The sound of him firing is deafening, the silence that follows more so. The wet noises Punk had been making have stopped, and John's staring at the floor with an odd look on his face. He collapses to his knees, the sound of him hefting Punk's body into his arms is added to the list of noises Dean will always remember, though he thinks the amount of time he'll go on remembering is getting short. John's rocking back and forth, Punk's shot, and ruined face just visible over his shoulder. Dean looks away from it, seeing the jar of Punk's eyes on the night-stand beside him. He stares into them, remembering them set into Punk's face, remembering them filled with laughter, or hazy with lust. The last thing he hears before he loses conciousness, and very probably his life, is another gunshot.

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Moiself, VKxXx92, and Kat.**

 _Twenty-fourth we have **Fairytale of New York** , as requested by **Kat**. I have no doubts that this was not what you were hoping for, but sometimes my mind goes to dark places. _

**Christmas is nearly upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**


	25. Last Christmas

_Warnings: Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk), Fluff, Smut, Death, AU - linked to chapter 1, and 11._

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Punk glances at the clock, and straightens his shirt. His next client should be here any minute. A middle-aged Jewish woman who wants to talk to her mother. He's been working as a medium for just over a year now, but he's still nervous when meeting a new client. He's never sure what they'll make of him. He knows he doesn't quite fit the image of a medium most people have. He knows with his bleached hair, tattoos, and overall scruffy appearance, he's not what people are looking for, but he's good at his job. Crossing over, slipping through the cracks in the wall between the worlds has never been too difficult for him. He's always had a talent for it, and with training that talent became a honed skill.

When she arrives, the woman looks, as Punk had expected, unimpressed with him. She enters into his little apartment, looking around.

"I brought my son, he's parking the car. I hope that won't be a problem." She smiles, and Punk shakes his head, taking the woman's coat, and hanging it up. "This is such a... Well, it's not quite the neighbourhood I'm used to." She laughs.

"The rent's cheap." Punk offers, getting a laugh from the woman. "So... How recently did your mother die?" The question is blunt, but that's just the way Punk is. He's not one to mince words.

"About a year now... I mostly want to tell her all the exciting news... She always wanted the boys to do well... Scotty's in college now, Gregg's got a nice little job... I just-"

"Wanna gossip, Mom. I got it." A man comes into Punk's apartment, and shuts the door. "So you met your psychic yet, or are we waiting here for dramatic effect?"

"I'm a medium, not a psychic, but close enough, I guess. I'm Punk." Punk offers his hand to the man. "So I'm going to guess you're Scotty." Punk smirks, and the man looks slightly embarrassed.

"It's Scott actually, but Colt is fine." He shakes Punk's hand, then finds the carpet incredibly interesting, not really looking up from it all the way into Punk's living room.

"Take a seat." Punk gestures to the cushions on the floor by the table, and wanders to his kitchen to grab the pot of coffee he's got waiting there. When he comes back, the son, Colt, is talking to his mother in low hushed tones about how he's sure that Punk is a fraud, and that his mother is being fleeced. Punk clears his throat as he comes closer, making Colt fall silent. Punk pours three cups of coffee, then grabs the thick sweater that he'd tossed on the couch earlier, pulling it on.

"Thank you, dear." The woman takes one of the coffee cups, her eyes downcast to the murky liquid, but Colt is watching Punk's every move intently, clearly looking for any sign of tricks.

"So... Is this the part where you ask all the questions so you can get to know my grandmother?" Colt asks, and Punk bites back a sigh. He's clearly been doing research into fakes, and there's a prideful part of Punk that wants to prove him wrong. Usually he would ask a few questions, simply to make finding the right spirit easier, but not this time. This time he's going to find the dead old lady, and get her to give her little shit of a grandson a talking to.

"Nah, wait here." Punk smirks, and closes his eyes. How exactly he gets into the Land of the Dead isn't something he can fully explain to people who can't do it. It's almost like falling asleep, but different. There are parts of the wall with gaps, spaces for things to pass between, and only some people, or some things, can find them. The first place he always sees is a vast, barren, desert. Flat, with very occasional spirits looking lost, or confused. It's never particularly populated, so Punk rarely dwells there long. He thinks he has an idea of where the spirit he's looking for will be, so he keeps walking. The desert merges with a thick forest, the trees dense, and dark. This part of the Land of the Dead is more populated, several mournful spirits wail on fallen trees, most not noticing Punk, one or two trying to catch his eye, but failing. He's quite confident that the old lady spirit he's looking for isn't here either. He's sure she'll be in the glade. A beautiful, little refuge nestled in the dark woods, just before the hills. Unlike most of the other places Punk's visited in the Land of the Dead, the glade is almost warm, and there's a pool of water. It'd be a lovely place, if it wasn't so quiet. It looks like there should be the sounds of insects, and birds there, but it's completely silent. Sitting by the pool is an old lady. She looks up when Punk approaches her, a smile on her face.

"You're looking for me?" She asks, and Punk nods, taking her hands. "I have been wondering what those little monkey grandchildren of mine have been up to."

"Okay." He tells her, then he lets her use his physical body to talk to her daughter, and grandson.

"Thank you, dear." When Punk opens his eyes, the old female spirit is standing before him. "I think I'll move on now... I've been wondering what's over those hills..." She starts wandering off, and Punk takes a breath before willing himself to wake up.

"Here." He wakes up to the feeling of a blanket being draped over his shoulders, and the sight of his client dabbing at her eyes. Colt sits down beside her, and pulls her into a one-armed hug. His eyes still focussed on Punk. "Mom... You go wait in the car, I'll pay him." The woman nods, then stands offering Punk a grateful smile, and a quiet _thank you_. Punk stares back at Colt, wondering what line of questioning is going to come his way, and if he'll be able to get warm enough to deal with it. Colt doesn't say anything for a long time. He just sits staring at Punk like he had two heads. Eventually Punk can feel the warmth of the living seeping back into him.

"What?" Punk feels increasingly uncomfortable under Colt's heavy gaze. He's not used to being stared at for quite so long.

"I'm trying to work how you faked it, but I can't... My grandma's voice was coming out of _your_ mouth... The stuff she'd say to me was coming out of your mouth, in her voice, and there's _no_ way you could have faked that... I mean there are ways, but they're not going to be covered by the amount of money my Mom's paying you." Colt's still staring at him and Punk feels desperately exposed, and vulnerable, but strangely content to be under that stare.

"So, that must mean I'm not a fake." Punk smiles, and downs his now cold coffee. He stands, and wobbles. Colt's on his feet, and grabbing Punk's arm to steady him before Punk can even think about doing it himself.

"How?" He asks, and Punk sighs, expecting the question, but not having an easy answer to offer. "I've tried to talk to her a thousand times, and nothing... Two minutes, and you have her here, chatting like nothing ever happened." Colt's wrapped his arm around Punk's waist, holding him upright. "Where we going?"

"Kitchen, I need coffee. I found her, because I can." Punk lets Colt hold him upright, trying to ignore how nice it is feel the warmth of a handsome, young man, rather than the warmth of three sweaters, and a comforter.

"That's not exactly an answer." Colt huffs, and Punk laughs at him.

"It's a thing I can do. I can't... I mean I could try and teach you, but it's not something everyone has the talent for." Punk offers, as he slips from Colt's side, and starts making another pot of coffee.

"Alright, I'll swing by tomorrow, you can start teaching me then." Colt grins, and sets his mother's payment down on the counter, leaving Punk alone.

After that first meeting, Colt had been true to his word. He'd shown up the next day, and had pumped Punk for answers between clients. He'd brought Punk coffee, and cookies, then wrapped in the blanket as soon as he'd leave the Land of the Dead. In one day he'd shown Punk the value of having an assistant. Then he'd had to go back to school. They'd stayed in touch, Colt growing more, and more interested in Punk's work, and less and less in his studies. Punk grew more and more interested in Colt. Whilst Punk didn't think business marketing sounded too interesting, he'd realised how useful it could be to him, especially when Colt had shown him the random ideas he'd had for helping Punk's business. Punk started to make plans, he wanted Colt's help in business, and him around Punk in general. So, when Colt had graduated, and started humming and ha'ing over what he was going to do with his life, Punk had made him an offer of being his business partner. Colt had accepted without a moment's hesitation. Together they didn't make too much money, but they did spend more time with each other.

Their friendship _changed_. It was all slow, and subtle at first. Punk snuggling up to Colt on the couch whilst watching TV, claiming to be cold. Colt bringing Punk more elaborate, and delicious coffees to warm him up after leaving the Land of the Dead. The real moment Punk realised that he was actually in love with his friend had been at once mundane, and spectacular. Colt had been folding the blanket on the couch, a different one to the first blanket Punk had had, one Punk didn't recognise, a blanket made of patches. Patches he'd later found out had been taken from old clothes Punk had discarded as not being warm enough, or blankets tossed aside for the same reason, all of these too thin, ineffective materials had been taken, stitched together, by Colt himself, and were now what brought the warm of the Living back to Punk. Without thinking about it, Punk had blurted out _I love you_ , and Colt had nodded absently, and returned the sentiment. Hardly the most romantic of moments, but Punk learned very quickly, that Colt isn't exactly the romantic type. He's many things, but romantic isn't one of them.

Years passed, Punk became more skilled, more well-known, and well-paid. He worked for all manner of overly rich people, talking with the dead relatives of kings, queens, and presidents. Colt had made a good case for moving into a nicer, larger apartment, which had led to Punk arguing that they could afford a trainee. Colt had reluctantly agreed, his reluctance coming as a surprise to Punk. In what had been an incredibly uncomfortable screaming match between them, Colt had revealed that he was worried Punk would be seduced by someone else with his talents. The idea that Colt was worried about that had surprised Punk, and he'd carefully, and more calmly asked why, getting an answer that had made him laugh. Punk didn't want someone like himself. There was no way he'd ever consider dating a medium for the simple reason that other mediums would likely be in competition with Punk, which wouldn't be healthy for a relationship. The other reason Punk wouldn't run off with another medium was shorter, and simpler. The main reason he's not going to leave Colt, is that he loves him. He adores Colt more than words can say. He loves the little things he does, loves the way he looks so perplexed by the accounts, the way he tidied up between sessions, the way he's always there when Punk wakes up from the Land of the Dead, blanket and coffee in hand. It'd taken Punk a little time to convince Colt of that, but once he had, he'd started evaluating apprentices. Several were rejected outright as being bad fits, others were trialled, but didn't work out. It took almost a year for Seth to show up. A young man with bright eyes, and a keen mind. He was capable of crossing over, but not confident in it. He'd never ventured further than the very edges of the desert. Colt had liked him, Punk had liked him, and so Seth had moved in.

One Christmas, when Seth had been there for maybe all of two months, Punk is slowly coming to after a walk in the Land of the Dead. He's been working on Colt's Christmas present for almost a year now, and he's finally ready to give it to him. Taking things back from the Land of the Dead should be impossible, but Punk's managed it. Clutched in his hand is two simple, plain necklaces, each set with a stone. In the Land of the Dead the stones shine brightly, but a quick glimpse at them before Punk slips them into his pants pocket confirms they're rather plain in the Land of the Living.

"Hey, Punkers?" Punk looks up at Colt from his spot on the floor, he feels terrible, freezing cold, and weak, but he'd expected that. "Are there any dogs in the Land of the Dead?" Punk looks at him blankly for a moment, and starts laughing. Seth glances over at them from his desk, a slight smile on his face.

"None that I've seen." Punk reaches a hand out to Colt, groans when he's hefted off the floor. "Seth?"

"Uh-huh?" Seth's gaze focuses on Punk, his glasses slipping down his nose. "It's Christmas... Have a break." Seth nods, a slight blush coming over his cheeks. Punk snuggles up to Colt's side, his warmth seeping into Punk's cold body.

"Are you sure? I mean... I, uh... I'll go have dinner out, meet up with some friends... Let you two have some time alone." He gathers his things, and quickly scurries off to his room. Colt bursts out laughing, and Punk taps him on the chest.

"Be nice. He's a good boy." Punk starts off upstairs, heading for the bedroom he shares with Colt. "I wanna give you your Christmas present." Punk turns to him with a grin, but before Punk can actually do anything, Colt pulls him into a kiss. He pushes them through the slightly ajar door, and then walks Punk back towards the bed.

"I'm not in a hurry for getting presents. I'd much rather give, than receive" Colt grins, and starts pulling his clothes off. "You're wearing too many clothes for your present."

"Colt, did you actually get me a present, cause your cock isn't exactly anything special." Punk laughs, and getting an eye-roll in return.

"Yes, I got you a present... You know, technically I should get eight present." He smirks, and gets on the bed, pushing Punk to his back.

"I'll get you eight presents when you light some candles." Punk wriggles out of his clothes, and pulls Colt down into a kiss.

"Hmm... Fair enough." Colt grabs the lube from the night-stand, and coats two of his fingers, sliding one into Punk's ass.

"You're no fun... You never argue with me properly." Punk mutters, his eyes falling closed as Colt adds a second finger.

"I'm not arguing with you on Christmas. It's like against the law or something." Colt mutters, pressing a kiss over Punk's heart. "I don't like arguing with you... I always lose."

"That's cause I'm always right." Punk grins, moaning when Colt starts stroking his cock. "You gonna actually fuck me, or is this it?" Punk bucks his hips, forcing Colt's fingers to press against his prostate.

"Impatient." Colt mutters, and pulls his fingers out, then coats his cock in lube. "Impatient, argumentative, and bratty though you are, I do love you." He mutters, easing his cock into Punk's ass.

"You love my terrible qualities the most." Punk wraps his arms around Colt's neck, and pulls him into a kiss, rocking his hips slightly. "You wanna know what I got you for Christmas?"

"Can we not play guessing games when we're having sex?" Colt pulls back a little, then eases back into Punk's ass. He starts kissing Punk's neck, his hands slipping under Punk's shoulder blades to hold him closer. Punk wraps his legs around Colt's waist, pulling himself into each thrust, his fingers sliding into Colt's hair.

"I got you me." Punk mutters, his back arching, his head falling to one side to let Colt nip at his throat.

"I already have you... I've had you for years." Colt rolls to his back, dragging Punk with him. Punk rearranges himself so he's straddling Colt's thighs. "Not that I'm complaining... I _love_ having you."

"No..." Punk starts moving slowly, enjoying the slow slide of Colt's cock in his body. Colt's hands run up his sides gently, though firm enough to not be ticklish. "I'm giving you _me_."

"We're getting married?" Colt asks, his thumb brushing over Punk's bottom lip, flicking the ring there. Punk nips at his finger, and then suckles it into his mouth. He laps at the digit for a moment, then releases it. Colt trails his hands back down, brushing over Punk's nipples, before settling on his waist, helping Punk in his slow movements.

"If you want... But this is something more." Punk smiles, and stoops down to kiss Colt. He whispers words, soft, strange foreign words, that seem to flow from his lips like smoke. Punk hadn't found out what exactly would happen when the words were spoken, and really it feels like nothing has, but he feels better for having started.

"I'm sorry... What was that?" Colt asks bemused, and slips his hand between them to take a hold of Punk's cock. "I don't speak whatever language that was."

"You barely speak English." Punk laughs, rocking his hips a little faster. Colt chuckles at him, and speeds his hand up. "It's a spell... I've been researching it for a while now."

"Spell?" Colt laughs, and lets go of Punk's cock to cradle his face. "You're a wizard now? Am I gonna have to start calling you Harry?"

"Did you watch Harry Potter with Seth?" Punk can't imagine any other way for Colt to have Harry Potter references in his vocabulary other than the apprentice's love of it.

"Maybe... _So,_ spell?" Colt changes the subject awkwardly, and Punk laughs softly, his hips still moving slowly.

"Hmm, yeah. A spell... I said I was giving you me, and I was serious... Though to be fair, I'm kind of taking you too." Punk smiles, awkwardly, and lifts himself off of Colt's cock. He gets off the bed, and grabs the necklaces from his pants' pocket. He tosses the slightly red one to Colt, and gets back on the bed. "Put it on."

"What's this?" Colt does as he's asked, and fingers the stone, looking at Punk in confusion. Punk flops onto his side, and throws a leg over Colt's hips, angling himself so Colt can slide his cock back into Punk's ass. He presses his forehead against Punk's, and pulls him in closer. "It feels warm... This is gonna sound insane, but this stone feels like _you_." Punk grins at Colt's words, and slips the slightly blue stone around his own neck.

"It should." Punk kisses Colt, then whispers the second part of the spell against Colt's lips. "It's half my soul." Colt stares at him, then pulls the stone up to look at.

"This isn't your soul... _Your_ soul is beautiful. This is-"

"It's prettier on the other side." Punk smiles, and pulls the blue stone up. He presses the stones together, and the two little stones seem to glow with a soft purple light. "But they're most beautiful when they're together."

"That's half of my soul, isn't it?" Colt asks, awe heavy in his tone. Punk nods, and Colt pulls him into a kiss, moving his hips, driving his cock into Punk faster.

"Yes." Punk hisses, his hand between them, and starts chasing his orgasm. "I wanna-"

"Do it." Colt says firmly, thrusting into Punk. "Whatever it is, do it. I love you, I trust you, and I won't be without you." Colt rolls them over so Punk's on his back, and starts fucking into Punk faster.

"Good." Punk moans, his hand matching pace with Colt's thrusts. Colt nods distractedly, his thrusts increasingly erratic. Punk somehow manages to finish the spell before he comes. The moment the last word is uttered, Punk feels his orgasm come over him, far more powerful than any he's ever felt before. Colt collapses on top of him, his weight solid, and familiar. Punk strokes his hand down Colt's back absently, a perfect feeling of contentment filling him. "I love you too, so much, Colt... I... _Nothing_ is gonna take you away from me. I see so many people broken apart by death, and I won't... We're together, bonded together far more than any ring, or paper could ever make us." Colt makes a lazy agreeing noise, and pulls out of Punk. He grabs some tissues from the night-stand, and starts making a half-assed attempt at cleaning Punk up. "Leave it... I'll shower after I have a nap." Punk grabs the tissues, and tosses them in the general direction of the garbage. "So what did you get me?" Punk yawns and snuggles up to Colt.

"Hmm? Oh! Your Christmas present?" Colt presses a kiss to the top of Punk's head, and laughs softly. "Compared to half of your soul, it's pretty shitty, but I bought you one of those chairs you're always trying out in the furniture store... You know the reclining ones..." Punk laughs, and presses a kiss to Colt's lips.

"You're trying to stop me from lying on the floor, aren't you?" Colt doesn't give Punk a verbal answer to his question, he instead hugs Punk tighter, and kisses his hair once more.

The next day it's business as usual, though Punk has no clients to see. He's instead researching more on the bonding he performed last night, and dipping in and out of the Land of the Dead, trying to make sure he's not messed up his talent with it. It seems easier than before, almost as though he's got an anchor now, and the cold doesn't affect him nearly as much. It feels like he's got Colt's warmth pressed against his back the whole time he's in. At around midday, Colt announces that he's going to the store, asking if there's anything anyone needs, but getting only vague distracted answers from both Punk, and Seth. Colt had been gone for all of two hours when Punk felt a strange pain in his chest. A horrible burning sensation that made his heart race, and his breathing speed up. Seth looks over at him, his eyebrows raised.

"What is it?" He asked, coming over to where Punk was sprawled over the floor reading. "Are you okay?" Punk shakes his head. He's definitely not okay, but he doesn't know why. "Should I call nine-one-one?" Seth pulls his cell from his pocket, almost at the same time as Punk's rings. A call asking him to go to a hospital. "I'll take you." Seth offers, but Punk forces himself to his feet, and starts pulling his coat on, ignoring the pain in his chest. "Punk! Let me help!"

"I'll take a cab... You stay here, hold the fort." Punk mutters, and braves the cold.

Punk stumbles into his apartment, and collapses onto the couch. He sits there rigidly, staring at nothing. His mind isn't working right. It doesn't seem able to process anything, caught in a perpetual loop of what just happened. The machine checking his heart-rate stopped beeping. The machine that was forcing air into his lungs was switched off. I.V.s were removed. He was dead.

"Hey... What happened?" Seth appears before Punk. He looks as scared as Punk feels. Dead. Colt is dead. Punk is all alone for the first time since he met Colt, he no longer has him. The stone around his neck is deathly cold, and Punk wants nothing more than to join his lover in the Land of the Dead.

"He..." Punk shakes his head, and stands. His limbs rebel at the motion, and he crumples into Seth's waiting arms, where he starts wailing like a child. Seth holds him up, but doesn't say anything. If it's because he knows there's nothing worth saying, or that he has no idea what to say, Punk doesn't care. The _only_ thing that matters is gone.

"Lets get you to bed." Seth helps him up the stairs, but doesn't seem to realise that's only going to make things worse. The room is full of Colt's clothes. The bed smells like him. His glasses are in the case on the night-stand. His cellphone charger is still plugged in, because he always forgot to unplug it. Seth guides Punk to the bed, and hovers nervously near it. "Is there... Can I do anything?" He asks, and Punk shakes his head, withering onto it. "I... I'll be here if you need me, Punk." Seth hovers by the door way for a moment, and then shuts it behind him. Punk lies on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling _nothing_. He's never felt this profoundly empty before. Colt is gone. The other half of his soul is quite literally gone. The little stone on the chain around his neck is dull, and freezing, the warmth it had once held is gone. There's nothing left in the Land of the Living for him, Punk wants to go to where the other half of his soul is. Death is infinitely preferable to living in a world without Colt.

Once Seth goes to bed, Punk slips down stairs once more. He stands staring in the bathroom mirror for a _long_ time, and he reaches a conclusion. There's nothing left for him here. He should leave. He grabs the switch razor, and slips it into his pocket. Moving on autopilot, he fills a basin from the kitchen, and carries it to the chair Colt had bought him for Christmas, and sets it on the table beside it. He wonders if he should write Seth a letter. It might be rude to not, but he can't bring himself to commit any of this to paper. He needs to get this over with. He pulls out the razor, and sits heavily. He briefly runs his fingers through the water, and then raises the little stone to his lips.

"Wait for me." He whispers, and slashes the length of his vein. He places his arm in the water, and waits.

The cold of the Land of the Dead is familiar, but where he is isn't. He's used to vast open plains, or dense woods. He appears to be standing in a city. A city made of a mishmash of architecture. There's a gathering of hooded figures in the middle of a square, and it seems like that's where Punk should be. He starts walking, happening to glance down at the stone around his neck. It's once more shining brightly with a soft purple light, and he sighs in relief, at least Colt is here somewhere, at least they're together again.

"This has literally never happened before." One of the hooded figures snapping in annoyance is the first thing Punk hears once he's close enough.

"I know that." Another sounds more exasperated than annoyed, and Punk comes closer.

"It's certainly a first. What say you... Spirit?" This figure sounds confused, and Punk brushes past the outer figures easily.

"Punkers!" Punk spots Colt as soon as he enters the ring of hooded figures. He's standing there dressed as he had been when he'd left the apartment, a harried look on his face. He rushes over to Punk, and tries to pull him into a hug, but his arms pass through Punk's body. "What the fuck?" He asks, and Punk shakes his head, staring at Colt, utterly unable to talk.

"What's going on now!" One of the hooded figures exclaims, throwing their hands up in the air. "Is it open season on weird shit happening? What in the name of the Void are you Mortals up to?" Punk ignores the figure in favour of continuing to stare dumbly at Colt.

"I found you." Punk whispers softly, and he reaches for Colt, but as when Colt tried to touch him, Punk's fingers pass through him. "Why can't I? I should be dead too." Punk whispers, and crumples to his knees. Colt follows him down, his hands hovering nervously over him.

"You bound us together." Colt whispers softly. "My soul to your's... My soul died, but your's was still alive."

"No... Colt, you don't understand... I..." Punk looks away, and then back up at Colt. "I..."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but killing yourself clearly didn't work." One of the hooded figures snaps, and Colt springs to his feet, clearly ready to defend Punk's honour.

"Colt, wait." Punk forces himself up, and reaches for Colt, his hand once more passing through him.

"Punk... Did you commit suicide?" Colt speaks calmly, but Punk can see the tension in his shoulders.

"He tried." The hooded figures part, and a new one enters the circle. Their robe is far more elaborate than the others, with intricate black embroidery on the thick velvet. "He failed however... and I want to know why." Colt spares Punk a quick, slightly annoyed glance, then returns to staring at the new hooded figure. "Follow me." It starts walking back towards the large skyscraper it had come out of, clearly expecting to be followed.

"We're talking about this later." Colt mutters to Punk as he starts walking after the figure. Punk trails along behind them, not entirely certain what's going on, but slowly beginning to realise what has happened at least.

Inside the skyscraper there's nothing but gleaming white, and a hooded figure behind a desk. They follow the figure in elaborate robes into an elevator. It presses a button, but there are no numbers on any of them, so Punk has no idea where it's going. Colt keeps shooting him furtive glances, his expression unreadable. The elevator chimes when it reaches the right floor, and the hooded figure waves an arm, indicating they should get out.

"What did you do, Mortal?" A voice booms from the figure seated behind the desk. Their robes are thick velvet, and deep plum. The figures stands, peeling back their hood too revel a grey haired old man. He points to the stone around Punk's neck, his eyes narrowed. "That... You've done something either very foolish, or very smart." The man takes his seat once more, his expression calm, and calculating.

"Why either or?" Punk asks, stepping further into the large office. "I bound our souls together... I see it as foolishly smart." A cocky grin spreads over Punk's lips, and the man stares at him thoughtfully.

"You didn't just bind your souls." The man laughs, and Punk moves a little closer to Colt, who's standing watching the exchange quietly.

"He combined them, didn't he?" Colt's voice is quiet, and the old man laughs loudly. "That's why I wasn't processed, you _can't_... Half of my soul is still alive, and he didn't die because half of his soul is already here..." Punk turns to him, and Colt sighs dramatically. "We're both stuck until they fix it."

"They can't." Punk laughs suddenly, turning to the old man. "You've no idea what to do, do you?" The old man glares at Punk, but all Punk does is laugh once more.

"Resurrectionist, you will fix this problem." The old man snarls, and this time Colt laughs at him.

"What we share a title?" He asks, a grin on his face.

"You have one soul, you get one title." The old man sounds more than a little annoyed, and Colt glances over at Punk offering him a slight smile. "You will fix this, and restore the natural order."

"If we don't? What happens then?" Punk would like nothing more than to take Colt's hand, but it seems in the Land of the Dead, he's nothing more than a ghost.

"This. What you have now for all eternity. Your soul is trapped, Resurrectionist. Half living, half dead... You're in limbo, perverting the natural order... I suggest you pick a side. Are you alive, or dead, because you cannot be both." The old man pulls his hood up once more, and laces his fingers.

"But we are." Colt mutters, and sighs. "We'll need somewhere to work."

"Your living half will need to return soon. The longer it's here... Well, we don't know what'll happen, but we imagine it won't be good." The old man gestures at Punk. "As for a work space... The City is very _suggestible_... Think it, and it'll appear."

"We'll get out of your hair." Punk desperately wants to tug on Colt's sleeve, but he has the feeling that wouldn't work too well.

"I've always wanted a secret lab." Colt mutters once they leave the skyscraper. The square is deserted, not a single trace of the hooded figures.

"Secret lab?" Punk asks quietly, his gaze casting around the square. His attention is caught by a strange looking entrance with a sign above it reading _Resurrectionist's Lab_. "I guess this is the way to your secret lab then." Punk laughs, and reaches to catch Colt's hand, wincing when his own passes through it.

"That's the first problem we're working on." Colt mutters, walking towards the entrance. "I'm not spending eternity not being able to touch you."

* * *

Many thanks, and festive cheer to those who reviewed:

 **Kat, Debwood-1999** **, and VKxXx92 .**

 _Lastly we have **Last Christmas** as requested by **alizabethianrose**._

 **Christmas is upon us! Give the gift of a review! (** _it's free and everything_ **)**


	26. Track Listing

**Advent Calendar Track Listing**

Track 1 - **Making Christmas:** AJ's dead. She wasn't supposed to be, but she is. Christmas was her favourite holiday whilst living, but there's not Christmas in the Land of the Dead, so she tries to bring some festive cheer to her Reaper room-mate. _Warnings: Mild FemSlash (Paige/AJ), AU._

Track 2 - **Winter's Tale** : Marty's waiting for Shawn to arrive so they can have a conversation about the state of their relationship once their team splits up, but Shawn has other plans. _Warnings: Slash (Marty Jannetty/Shawn Michaels), smut, angst, drug use._

Track 3 - **Underneath the Tree** : Dean's on leave for Christmas, and Punk's excited to finally get to spend some time with his soldier lover. _Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), smut, Angst, AU._

Track 4 - **Merry Christmas, Darling** : Hideo is in Japan for Christmas, and Finn misses his lover, but modern technology provides them a way to spend some quality time together. _Warnings: Slash (Finn Bálor/Hideo Itami), smut, Fluff._

Track 5 - **We Three Kings:** Steve and Punk have had a thing for a while, but Steve finds out that one of the new call up has a thing with the Champ too. _Warnings: Slash (Steve Austin/Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), smut._

Track 6 - **Baby It's Cold Outside** : Dean is a Demon hunter. His former boss, and former crush, shows up with an ugly Christmas present, and an interesting case; a high level Demon that doesn't seem to want to go home. _Warnings: Unrequited Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk) Implied Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk), Heavily AU, Mild Profanity._

Track 7 - **Troika** \- Dean and Roman get an unexpected visitor for Dean's birthday. _Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins) Smut, Angst, Mostly Canon Compliant._

Track 8 - **Christmas Time (Don't Let the Bells End)** : The Authority Christmas party proves to be dull, but Wade provides Sheamus with something more interesting to do. _Warnings: Slash (Wade Barrett/Sheamus) Smut nothing but smut!_

Track 9 _-_ _ **A Winter's Tale**_ _:_ Chris is a wealthy business man who meets a soldier down on his luck, and turned to a much less honourable profession. A profession that Chris is quite happy to indulge in. _Warnings: Slash (Chris Jericho/Dean Ambrose), Smut, AU, Drug Use, Prostitution._

Track 10 - **Once in Royal David's City:** Two thieves, on a moonless night break into a house with suspicious ease. The reasons for that become very clear, very quickly. Warnings: Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk) Implied Poly-amorous (Cesaro/Tyson Kidd/Natalya), AU, Fluff.

Tack 11 - **Red Water (Christmas Mourning):** When Dean's lover died, he was lost, and strange things started happen. On the advice of friends he visits a medium, and finds a solution to his problem. _Warnings: Past Slash (Roman Reigns/Dean Ambrose), Mild Slash (Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins), AU, Fluff, Major Character Death (not described), linked to chapter one._

Track 12 - **Common Cold** : For almost as long as he's been working there, Steve's had a crush on the deputy manager. Over time they've struck a friendship, that a common cold lets them move onto the next level. _Warnings: Slash (Stone Cold Steve Austin/CM Punk), AU, Fluff._

Track 13 - **Santa Baby** : Seth's injured, and spending Christmas home alone. Thankfully his Beast has come to give Christmas to his Beauty. _Warnings: Beauty and the Beast continuity, Slash (Brock Lesnar/Seth Rollins), Smut, Fluff._

Track 14 - **Mistletoe and Wine** : Chris had decided to take a winter vacation to recharge his batteries, but boredom and loneliness quickly set in, thankfully his lover had already anticipated that. _Warnings: Slash (Chris Jericho/Christian), Smut, Fluff._

Track 15 - **Wrapped in Red** : When Dean was given a sponsor as part of his drug rehabilitation program, he didn't know quite how important Finn would become to him. _Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/Finn Bálor), Fluff, Mentions of Addiction._

Track 16 - **Merry Xmas (War is Over)** : Finn was just Dean's sponsor, now he's much more. _Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/Finn Bálor), Fluff, Mentions of Addiction, Smut, Direct Sequel to Chapter 15 - Wrapped in Red_

Track 17 - **All I want for Christmas is You:** Brock gives Seth a Christmas present, that confirms to his Beauty that he doesn't much like sharing the Beast. _Warnings: Slash (Brock Lesnar/Seth Rollins/Cm Punk), SMUT, Beauty and the Beast continuity_

Track 18 - **I Got My Love To Keep Me Warm** : Steve almost expects to be alone on his birthday, but thankfully his boys show up to make sure he has a day to remember. _Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk/Steve Austin), smut._

Track 19 - **Little Town of Bethlehem** : Ser Natalya, and her companions set forth to vanquish the foul beast known as Samoa Joe in a quest to avenge her beloved husband, Tyson. _Warnings: Poly-amorous (Cesaro/Tyson Kidd/Natalya),_ Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk) _, AU, Fantasy Violence, Follow on to chapter 10_

Track 20 - **We Wish You a Merry Christmas** \- Vince interrupts Punk's plans for a quiet Christmas, and takes him to a little Christmas party, with the Club's members out in full, deprived, force. _Warnings: Slash (Vince McMahon/CM Punk), Smut, Coercion, Bondage, set in s/10187541/1/Amor-Vincit-Omnia continuity._

Track 21 - **Santa Claus is Coming to Town** \- Byron finds himself in an unexpected, and uncomfortable situation with a man who terrifies more than he's happy about, but it seems for a change that the Prize Fighter doesn't have violent intentions. _Warnings: Mild Slash (Kevin Owens/Bryon Saxton), Fluff_

Track 22 - **Hark the Herald Angels Sing** \- After defeating the dragon, Sers Cesaro and Natalya arrive home to a most welcome surprise. Warnings: _Poly-amorous (Cesaro/Tyson Kidd/Natalya), AU, Smut, Follow on to chapter 10 and 19_

Track 23 - **Driving Home for Christmas** \- Dean's heading home for Christmas, but a lack of funds means he's taking the bus. Whilst travelling a handsome stranger strikes up a conversation. _Warnings: Mild Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), AU, Fluff._

Track 24 - **Fairytale of New York** \- Dean doesn't remember what happened last night, not even when his bail is paid by a man he vaguely recognises, a man who knows Dean's lover as well as Dean does. _Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk) (John Cena/CM Punk), AU, VIOLENCE, Death._

Track 25 - **Last Christmas** \- The tale of the Resurrectionist's birth is a simple one, a tale of love, and lose. A simple tale with a complicated outcome. - _Warnings: Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk), Fluff, Smut, Death, AU - linked to chapter 1, and 11._


End file.
